The Emperor now walked in the Park every day, and each time he returned greatly depressed at some fresh mark of disrespect. “But,” he said, “it’s very foolish to think that this behaviour can affect my soul--how petty of them to seek to humiliate me by calling me ‘Colonel’ ... after all, it’s a very worthy appellation.” The Empress was a tragic figure, and, in her invariable Red Cross uniform, she symbolised Pity, in a world which knew not the meaning of the word. Every hour that I knew her, I loved her more. One day, Kotzebue told me that Titi was ill; in fact, _very_ ill, but I did not like to agitate the Empress until Kotzebue came to ask her to permit me to go with him and telephone from the basement of the Palace. She was greatly distressed to hear that her godson was ill, and equally concerned at not having been told before. “My poor girl, what you must have suffered!” she said. Kotzebue and I descended into the basement: two soldiers guarded the telephone, and I was informed that I could only be allowed five minutes’ conversation. “How is the child?” was my first question. “Very ill, Madame,” answered my maid. “Please, please bring him to the ‘phone.’” I waited impatiently, and then a little feeble voice whispered: “_Maman ... c’est vraiment toi! quand viendras-tu?_” At that moment a soldier interposed. “Your five minutes is up!” I returned to the Empress, almost heart-broken, but I endeavoured to appear cheerful. The interminable day wore away, evening fell, and I assisted at what had now become a sort of nightly routine. Every evening the Emperor wheeled the Empress in her invalid-chair across the Palace in order to visit the suite. It was a melancholy pilgrimage. She first stopped to talk with the Benckendorffs, and afterwards passed from group to group of her faithful adherents, taking Anna’s room on the way back--Anna, so to speak, representing the last word in dejection, as she was ever full of terrors and presentiments. That night I was glad to seek refuge in the red drawing-room and find myself alone, and able to indulge in what is described as “a good cry.” As I left the mauve boudoir, the Emperor and the Empress kissed me, and made the Sign of the Cross. I felt instinctively that they loved me, and were sorry for me.