Almost immediately after the Emperor’s departure, the Tsarevitch fell ill with measles, and I used to spend every evening with the Empress, who was naturally much worried over her son’s illness. In these days, our intimacy had increased so much that my time was mostly devoted to the Empress, and I saw few of my friends and relations. But my aunt, the Countess Kotzebue-Pilar, was a great Society leader, and I heard all that transpired in her salon. One evening before dinner my aunt (who was always furious at the rumours current about the Empress) ’phoned me to come to her house at once. I found her in an excessively agitated condition.... “It’s awful what people are saying, Lili,” she cried.... “And I must tell you--you _must_ warn the Empress.” In somewhat calmer tones my aunt continued: “Yesterday I was at the Kotzebues’.... Many officers were present, and it was openly asserted that His Majesty will never return from G.H.Q. What are you going to do? You are constantly in the society of the Empress--you cannot allow her to remain in ignorance of these reports.” “She will not believe them,” I said. “Nevertheless,” said my aunt, “it is your duty to warn her.” I returned to the Palace feeling very unhappy. I hardly knew what to do for the best. At last, after a struggle, I decided to tell the Empress. As I had anticipated, she made light of the story. “It’s all nonsense, Lili, I can’t believe such a thing--it’s nothing but malicious gossip. However, as you seem so apprehensive, send for Grotten (the Commandant du Palais) and tell him.” “Don’t pay any attention to such a canard,” cried Grotten angrily, when he heard my story. “It’s a lie which stamps itself as the worst kind of lie.” “Well, General,” I retorted, now thoroughly vexed with myself for having apparently made a mountain out of a molehill, “if God ordains my aunt’s report to be a lie, so much the better.” “Don’t be cross.... I’ll most certainly get in touch with G.H.Q.,” said Grotten reassuringly. THREE DAYS AFTER CAME THE REVOLUTION. * * * * * And now the funeral knell of Russia began to sound, at first muffled, but always insistently. Disorders broke out in Petrograd. The strikes began on February 21st (Old Style), and crowds clamoured for bread, of which the supplies had suddenly stopped. No one could understand this, as Protopopoff’s last words to the Emperor were: “There is plenty of flour, I’ll pledge my word that we have enough flour to last us for a month, and after that fresh supplies will be coming in.” The bread shortage was in reality due to the action of the Duma--it was an organised arrangement!! Each day matters grew worse. Fighting took place in the streets, drunkards indulged in indescribable orgies, the police were murdered much in the same manner as they have been in Ireland. It was bitterly cold--snow lay in deep drifts, and Petrograd was in the iron grip of a black frost.