About dusk, when I returned to my lodgings, I found Nastasia and two young men sitting round my table awaiting my coming. I knew both of the men as Maximalists. One of them, Sasha, was the son of one of the old generation revolutionists, who had spent many years in incarceration in Schlüsselburg Fortress. He and Nastasia were lovers. Love in the revolution has played no mean part. It has inspired deeds of noblest daring, it has led to splendid sacrifice. Sometimes it has proved unsettling and precipitated disaster. The instant I looked at my friends I knew my suspicions of the morning were correct. They were perfectly frank about it. The men were both implicated. Nastasia was not directly concerned in the affair, but she was one of the group, and consequently in constant fear of being taken as a suspect. Indeed, the very name I knew her by, and her passport, were newly acquired, and under dramatic circumstances. She had been “working” in Moscow previous to the December insurrection, and under her own name was sought by the police. During the barricade-fighting Nastasia saw a girl comrade shot down near her. With sudden inspiration she bent over the dead girl and drew forth her passport, then quickly slipped her own passport into the place of the one she was taking. Nastasia’s name appeared in the list of the dead, and thenceforth she was known by the name of the girl who had fallen on the barricades. Escape from St. Petersburg, and if possible from Russia, was the subject of their discussion. They had come to my house because they feared their own quarters would be suspected and watched. Presumably mine was a “white” house on the police records. These “soldiers of the revolution” were naturally elated at the success of the coup, but frightfully depressed by the loss of life which had attended the “expropriation.” One thing only now lay before them--the getting away. The police were ransacking every house in the city. Orders were issued that afternoon that doorkeepers should report before morning if any one without a passport remained over night in any house. Ordinarily there is a grace of three days, but this fresh order commanded reports to be made before daybreak. Eighty arrests had already been made. The railway stations were filled with police spies and gendarmes, and every person leaving by any train was scrutinized. The wagon roads were covered by soldiers, and the boats leaving the ports were observed as carefully as the trains. Sasha was inclined to risk remaining in the city for a day or two at least, but Nastasia, knowing that to be caught meant immediate execution, would not hear of delay. She was determined that Sasha at least should hasten to safety that night. I had no suggestions to make, though I wished them well, and went out to supper, leaving them still discussing a possible plan. I returned about nine-thirty. The three were still there, and with a plan worked out.