When the Empress had destroyed her correspondence, she handed me her diaries to burn. Some of the earlier volumes were gay little books bound in white satin; others were bound in leather. She smiled bravely as I took them, and an immense disgust seized me when I thought that the country of my birth was responsible for her misery and the injustice meted out to her. “I can’t bear Russia,” I cried. “I hate it.” “Don’t dare say such things, Lili,” said the Empress. “You hurt me.... If you love me, don’t ever say you hate Russia. The people are not to blame; they don’t understand what they are doing.” A coloured post-card of South Russia fell out of one of the diaries. I picked it up. It was a pretty picture of young girls standing in a flower-starred meadow ... and it brought Revovka back to me. “That’s _home_,” I murmured. But the Empress heard my words. “What did you say? Repeat it, Lili. You said, ‘That’s _home_.’ Now you must never say you hate Russia.” At this time, I am proud to say, the Empress relied on me as woman to woman. To her, I was always “Lili,” or “My brave girl.” I was her friend in trouble. The fact that I possessed no official position mattered nothing to her; every moment I was writing letters, taking messages, and seeing people on her behalf. I obeyed her absolutely, and her gentle influence gave me fresh strength to hope and to endure. The burning of the diaries extended over Wednesday and Thursday ... but on Thursday one of the Empress’s dressers came to the red drawing-room and begged us to discontinue. “Your Majesty,” said she, “the sweepers are searching for the half-charred pieces of paper, some of which have been carried up the chimney. I beg of you to cease.... These men are talking among themselves.... They are utterly disloyal.” But our task was completed--at any rate we had checkmated the curiosity of the Revolutionaries! At 7 o’clock the Empress asked me to telephone again to the Winter Palace. As on the previous occasion, Prince Retief answered me. “How are things with you?” I enquired. “The mob is even now at the gates of the Palace,” he replied with absolute unconcern. “I beg you, Madame, to present my assurances of fidelity and devotion to the Empress.... I may not be able to do so again.... Ah!... I thought as much. Madame, it distresses me to appear discourteous, but I fear I am about to be killed.... The doors of this room are being forced!” His voice ceased--there was a terrible crash.... I could bear no more, and the receiver slipped from my nerveless hands. We remained in the mauve boudoir until quite late, but, just as we were about to go to bed, Volkoff entered in a state of painful agitation. He managed to tell us that M. Goutchkoff had arrived, and insisted upon seeing the Empress. It was then 11 o’clock. “But, at this hour--it’s impossible,” said the Empress.