All the children were fond of animals. The Grand Duchess Tatiana’s pet was a bulldog called “Artipo,” who slept in her bedroom, much to the annoyance of the Grand Duchess Olga, who disliked its propensity for snoring. The Grand Duchess Marie favoured a Siamese cat, and, the year before the Revolution, Anna Virouboff gave a little Pekinese dog to the Grand Duchess Anastasie. This little creature had a tragic history. Curiously enough many people said that “Jimmi” seemed an unlucky dog; but he was a sweet little creature, whose tiny legs were so short that he could not walk up or down stairs. The Grand Duchess Anastasie always carried him, and “Jimmi” lavished a Pekinese devotion on her and her sisters. “Jimmi” went with the family to Tobolsk, and he is now identified in history with their fate. According to one account, his corpse was found, preserved in ice, at the top of the disused mine shaft; another writer has it that “Jimmi” defended his friends in the cellar at Ekaterinburg, barking defiance at the murderers, and guarding Tatiana’s fainting body until they were both killed. His skeleton is said to have been discovered later in a clump of undergrowth, and subsequently identified by its size and by a bullet hole in the skull. He was a dear little dog, and probably, could he have spoken, he would have desired no better fate than to perish with those in whose fortunes and affections he had equally participated. The Emperor greatly resembled King George V in appearance, but his eyes were unforgettable; and those of his cousin, although fine, do not possess the expression peculiar to the eyes of the Emperor. It was a combination of melancholy, sweetness, resignation and tragedy: Nicholas II seemed as if he saw into the tragic future, but he also seemed to see the Heaven that lies beyond this earth. He was “God’s good man.” I can give no higher praise, render him no more fitting homage. He was essentially charming: when you were with him you forgot the Emperor in the individual; he made formality impossible. He loved to tease people, and I came in for my full share of this propensity. One day when I was out walking at Livadia, several carriages passed me, but I did not especially notice their occupants. The next evening when I was dining at the Palace, the Emperor addressed me in grave tones: “_Lili--ce n’est pas bien, vous comprenez, mais ne pas reconnaitre vos amis_.” “_Mais, Votre Majesté, qu’est que vous voulez dire?_” “Well,” said the Emperor, “you _cut_ me yesterday.” “Votre Majesté, it’s impossible!”