“‘Goutchkoff and Shoulgine are also coming to talk to you,’ he informed me. These gentlemen made their appearance at the next station, and they were excessively impertinent. Rousky told them that he had already discussed matters with me. But I refused to be ignored. I struck the table with my fist. ‘I’m going to speak, I _will_ speak,’ I cried. “‘You must abdicate in favour of the Tsarevitch, and the people will nominate a Regent,’ said Goutchkoff and Shoulgine. “‘But,’ I replied, ‘are you sure--can you promise that my abdication will benefit Russia?’ “‘Your Majesty, it is the only thing to save Russia at the present crisis,’ they replied. “‘But I must think it over.... I’ll give you my answer in a couple of hours.’” “The delegates consented. I knew,” continued the Emperor, looking with affection at his wife, “that their first idea was to separate Alexis from the Empress, so I spoke to Dr. Fedoroff, who was in the train, and I asked him whether he considered it advisable to allow the Tsarevitch to be taken from her. “‘It will shorten the Tsarevitch’s life,’ said Fedoroff bluntly. “When Goutchkoff and Shoulgine returned, I intimated plainly that I would not part with my son. ‘I am ready to abdicate,’ I said, ‘but not in favour of my son, only of my brother.’ “My decision appeared to trouble them: they asked me to think better of it, but I was firm. Afterwards I signed the Act of Abdication. The train was then sent back to G.H.Q.” Such is the bare narrative of the abdication, related as nearly as possible in the Emperor’s own words. Baron Stackelberg, a cousin of my husband’s, who was travelling with the Emperor, afterwards told me that he and M. Voeikoff, the Commandant du Palais, met Rousky on the platform of the station where he joined the train. The two gentlemen were about to send some telegrams from the Emperor to Rodziansko, in which the Emperor replied to the former’s request to give Russia a constitutional government. In the opinion of the Emperor, the moment had not arrived. “Whose telegrams are these?” said Rousky. “His Majesty’s,” answered Baron Stackelberg coldly. Rousky snatched the telegrams from Baron Stackelberg, and put them in his pocket, remarking as he did so, “Useless!” So Rodziansko never received the Emperor’s telegrams, and Baron Stackelberg, who is now in Finland, can confirm the truth of the story. M. Voeikoff and the Baron looked at each other, neither spoke, but each read in the other’s eyes the unspoken thought--to kill Rousky then and there, and so avenge the insult to the Emperor. But Rousky had disappeared--the moment for righteous murder had passed! * * * * *