That night, after my visit to Spiradonova, when dark had settled over Tamboff, I stumbled down a littered street not more than a hundred yards from the prison to a poor little cottage, once painted red, now weather-worn and shabby. Within sat a middle-aged woman with large, dark eyes and creased, anxious face. I found her in an inner room, sitting with folded arms by a low-burning lamp. “Yes, Marie Spiradonova is my daughter,” she said. Then with quiet voice, not untouched with pride, she told me about the childhood days of the girl now shut apart from her by prison walls. She told me how from an early age Marie was studious, and thought to study medicine. Her three sisters all turned toward medicine, and two are dentists. Marie’s ambition was to be a doctor. She studied very hard, but when her country fell under deeper and darker oppressions, she could think of nothing but the sufferings of her people, so she gave up everything to serve the movement that was making for freedom. I knew that two of Marie’s sisters were also in prison at that time, one for merely having received a letter from Marie, and the other had been taken as a suspected propagandist. There was no direct charge against her. “Madame,” I said to the mother, “how does it make you feel to have three of your daughters in prison at one time on political charges?” The old lady was thoughtful for a moment and then, in a voice fervent and earnest, a voice I shall never forget, she replied: “It makes me the proudest mother in all Russia.” Shortly after my return to St. Petersburg I received the following letter. Like the others it had been smuggled out of the prison, as I afterward learned, through a chain of civil criminals: I am very sorry that I could not speak more with you. The conditions of my arrest are heavy, because I am isolated and the soldiers are always at my window. During the three months of my arrest I have not once slept without my clothes--the soldiers keep looking in upon me all the time. I am embarrassed at each movement. You can understand how such constant scrutiny amounts to torture, for I cannot get rid of civilized customs to the extent of undressing before the eyes of men. The physicians find it necessary that I should be quiet, and to walk continuously in the fresh air for one hour each day. The government gives me this hour of freedom, but under disagreeable conditions, owing to the curiosity of the soldiers. If the people of America are interested in the fate of this Russian girl, tell them that they must rather interest themselves in the fatherland of this girl. The revolutionary movement here is now making for liberty. I want for nothing personally because for a long time I have not existed personally. My heart and my soul are given to this movement--the movement which is in the service of the people.