Until this moment no one in town had suspected that war had been declared. All Alexandropol was in a great state of excitement; the Armenians, especially, were awfully frightened and depressed. At seven in the morning our troops left Alexandropol. The heart-breaking hour had come, the sad word “farewell” was to be said. I cried out, “Good-bye my all, good-bye!” and pressed my wet cheek to Sergy’s tear-stained one, like my own. After a short prayer, we held each other in a close embrace; I couldn’t believe that he was really going. At last I mastered myself with an effort, and disengaged my clinging arms with a last kiss. It was the worst moment I had ever had in my life. There was an instant of unconsciousness, and when I recovered myself he was gone! I hadn’t the strength to accompany Sergy to the front door, and flinging myself upon my bed, face downwards, I sobbed as I had never sobbed before. Oh! now I was alone, alone, alone! Suddenly I sprang up and stretched out my hands to the blank distance, cried aloud: “Come back, Sergy, come back, my sweetheart, I cannot let you go!” But he was already gone past recall. I shall certainly never forget that day. It seemed as if my life had ended. Oh, my God, if I could only die! I sent Housnadine, our Tartar servant, to the Russian frontier with the orders to return only after my husband had crossed to the other side of the Arpatchai. After two hours of agony, Housnadine brought me a few hasty words, scribbled by Sergy, while the pontoons were laying a bridge across the river for our artillery to pass over. Sergy entreated me to be brave, and promised to send me news as often as he could. Whilst he was writing that note, a notice came from head-quarters that the enemy had appeared. It was only a false alarm; a detachment of Turkish irregulars belonging to a tribe named “Karapapaki,” who had promised to serve the Russian cause if war would be declared, came now to join our army, with a banner and in full battle array. A long, miserable night followed. Oh, what I was suffering! What agonies, what tortures! Worn out with tears, I fell asleep, but was suddenly awakened by a loud voice pronouncing my husband’s name. A moment later I was out of bed and rushed to the window, seized with a sudden dread that some misfortune had happened to Sergy. It was an express messenger covered with dust, who had brought a letter from my husband. He wrote from the first halting place of our army, a Turkish village situated about ten miles distance from Alexandropol. I read that epistle till the pages were blotted with tears. Short as it was, there was enough love in it to make the letter doubly dear. I kissed the paper over and over again; then I kissed the “My own darling” with which the letter began, kissed the “Your loving husband” with which it ended. Early next morning I rose from my bed to look out upon a world suddenly become empty. It was like an awful nightmare from which I couldn’t wake up.