The pretty little dining-room was full of police agents, who received me most courteously, explaining that their presence was accounted for by the fact that a plot to kill the Empress and Anna Virouboff had just been discovered. This was not reassuring, but I decided not to be nervous, and, bidding good night to the officers of justice, I went into Anna’s bedroom. The familiar room looked strangely unfamiliar--terror lurked in the shadows, and death seemed in the air. I am not by nature superstitious, but I must confess that I felt so when an ikon suddenly fell down with a crash, carrying a portrait of Rasputin with it in its fall. I hastily undressed and got into bed--I could not sleep; I lay awake for hours, and when, towards dawn, I dropped off in an uneasy slumber, I was suddenly aroused by what seemed a great noise outside. I heard in the distance the tread of countless feet, the sound of many voices; a mighty multitude was marching towards Tsarkoe Selo--and the dreadful thought flashed across my mind that perhaps there had been a rising at Petrograd. I jumped out of bed, threw on a wrapper, and rushed to the dining-room. There all was quiet; the police officers were sleeping on the floor. My entrance awakened them. “Why, madame, what’s the matter?” they enquired. “Cannot you hear for yourselves?” I said, impatiently, “the noise--the crowd--I’m sure something dreadful has happened at Petrograd.” “We have heard nothing....” “Oh, but I assure you it’s correct.” The police opened the shutters, then the windows ... outside all was still with the intense stillness of a winter’s night. The officers made no comment, and closed the windows. “Madame has perhaps been dreaming,” said one, sympathetically. “She has had much to try her nerves.” But I knew differently. I had certainly experienced much to try my nerves, but what I heard was neither a nightmare nor a delusion. When I re-entered the sombre bedroom, with its fallen ikon and its fallen saint, I shuddered, for, although I knew it not, the veil had been lifted, and I had heard the fast approaching footsteps of Revolution and murder. I was an early arrival at the Palace, but the Empress was already up and she greeted me most affectionately. She told me that M. Protopopoff had strongly urged her to receive no one: there was evidence of a plot to murder her, and, for the first time, she seemed to feel some misgivings concerning the fate of Rasputin. She manifested no anxiety about her own danger; she was utterly serene and fearless: I was so struck by this that I could not help saying: “Oh, Madame, you don’t seem afraid to die. I always dread death--I’m a horrible coward.” The Empress looked at me in astonishment. “Surely, Lili, you are not _really_ afraid to die?” “Yes, Madame, I am.” “I cannot understand anyone being afraid to die,” she said, quietly. “I have always looked upon Death as such a friend, such a _rest_. You mustn’t be afraid to die, Lili.”