KERENSKY: “Can you explain why all orders from the Empress passed through you? You had no official position ... it’s a most suspicious occurrence.” MYSELF: “We were practically isolated in the private apartments through fear of contagion. Besides, what orders could the Empress give without their being known to _you_?” KERENSKY: “The servants are witnesses that all orders came through you. Enquiries will reveal the truth ... if you are honest ... well and good. If not ... that’s another matter.” I looked at him. Kerensky seemed absolutely implacable, but I decided to make one last appeal. He apparently loved flowers; this proved that, as his senses could be appealed to, why not his heart? “If _you_ had a child of your own, you’d understand my feelings,” I said. Kerensky surveyed me with that now familiar appraising scrutiny. “I don’t think much of you as a mother,” he replied, smiling coldly, “but--how old is your child?” “He is seven.” “Well, Madame, it so happens that I _have_ a child, and he, too, is seven. I can decide nothing, but I am now going to a Council at which Prince Lvoff will be present. _He_ must decide.” I looked him straight in the eyes. This time he met my gaze fully and squarely. “I’m perfectly certain that you can do anything you like, without consulting anyone,” I said. This tribute to his vanity appealed at once to Kerensky. With most men vanity is the most powerful factor. Wound a man’s vanity and he will never forgive you; pander to it, and he is your friend for life. Kerensky was no exception: I had discovered the heel of this Russian Achilles. “You are quite right. Of course I can do what I like. Go back to your room--I’ll send you my answer later in the evening.” He pressed an electric bell on his table. The A.D.C. entered. “Has Madame Dehn a bed in her room?” asked Kerensky. “If not, see that one is placed there.” “Oh, I don’t want a bed,” I interrupted. “Please let me go to my child.” “I’ve already told you,” said Kerensky, “that I’ll let you know later. But ... if I allow you to go home, you must give me your written promise not to act in any way against us.” The A.D.C. made a sign to the soldiers, Kerensky took no further notice of me, and I was hurried out of the warm flower-scented apartment into the icy corridor. Black despair overcame me when I regained my room. Kerensky had been non-committal; but I had hopes that my allusion to him as omnipotent might have some favourable effect; so I sat in the corner nearest the door, straining my ears to catch the sound of approaching footsteps. Shortly after midnight my friend the A.D.C. made his appearance, and, with a theatrical gesture, indicative of boundless space, he advanced, saying: “The Minister grants you permission to go home.”