“Yes ... I’m _here_,” I replied, with equal emphasis. Anna said nothing; she looked more childish than ever, and very ill at ease. The impression which I received was a bad one, and, when I related to the Empress what I had seen, she wrote to the doctor at the hospital, and asked him to send for the matron, as her presence was not required. Soon after this she resigned, and, like many others of her kind, she left Tsarkoe for an unknown destination. On Monday, March 6th, all was in readiness for our departure. But one thing yet remained for us to do, and this was, in my eyes, of the utmost importance. During one of my restless nights, I suddenly remembered that the Empress had always kept a diary and that she possessed the diaries of her friend, Princess Orbelliany, which had been bequeathed to her by the Princess. These contained most intimate accounts of various people, and events connected with the Court. I likewise remembered the Empress’s sentimental habit of preserving correspondence with associations, and I dreaded the possibility of either letters or diaries falling into the hands of the Revolutionaries. I knew that the worst construction would be placed by the “Sons of Freedom” on anything unusual which these papers might contain. Even the Empress’s habit of calling people by pet names might be construed as sensualism or treason! I hardly dared suggest the wisdom of destroying this personal property, but my devotion triumphed over my nervousness. To my intense surprise, the Empress at once agreed to do as I proposed. It may be argued that I was guilty of the worst Vandalism in persuading the Empress to destroy her diaries and correspondence. I may have been, in an historical and artistic sense--but I was right on the score of friendship. We had already experienced the misconstruction which had been put on _one_ sentence in a letter: What might not be the fate of the contents of the Imperial diaries if they fell into the hands of censorious and “pure-minded” Revolutionaries? Princess Orbelliany’s diaries were burned first. They consisted of nine leather-bound volumes, and we experienced much difficulty in destroying them. This _auto-da-fé_ of sentiment took place in the red drawing-room, but we did not attempt to finish burning the diaries and correspondence in one day. It was at best a melancholy task, and we decided to spread it over a week--especially as the Grand Duchesses were very ill, and we had to be with them constantly. Olga was now suffering with inflammation in the head, and Anastasie made little or no progress. After lunch, when the Empress and I were sitting in the mauve boudoir, we were startled by the sudden entrance of Volkoff. He was very agitated, his face was pale, he trembled in every limb. Without waiting to be addressed by the Empress, and utterly oblivious of etiquette, he cried: “The Emperor is on the ’phone!”