I was dismissed. It was over. I was not to be killed. My body throbbed with gladness.

The woman was standing beside me. She led me to the door and out into the open night. The air was sweet and fresh, so noticeable after being accustomed for so long to musty air. I breathed deeply to refresh my whole being. It was so long since the last time I had seen the night all lighted up with golden stars so near and yet so far. This was the most beautiful night and the saddest one I could remember. The horizon seemed to be far away, sad and quiet as if the world were in a deep slumber. But probably this very minute some one was facing a death sentence.

A heavy stone lay on my soul. I could find no consolation. Never will I see them again. My sisters fresh as rosebuds, in the very morning of their lives, and now withered away before they even blossomed, their youthful faces now covered with the cold earth, vanished completely and forever before my very eyes. My heart was aflame with a grief that was tearing my soul.

Were these the same stars which looked down on us at Tsarskoe Selo? At Livadia? The same as on our cruises, when Father’s stories about the heavens seemed so real? Father could see them no more; nor Mother, nor sisters, nor my brother Alexei. Knowing that their eyes were closed forever, filled me with a loneliness I could not bear.

How could the stars go on shining as if nothing had happened? How could the air be so sweet and fresh when such foulness had taken place? If my family could not breathe this fresh air, how could I? And how could I gaze on this heavenly grandeur?

All about me reminded me of my family. I had no more tears but I cried inwardly. I lost my balance. I collapsed on the ground. The man and the woman were watching me. They rushed to help me to my feet, and back into the house and down the ladder.

Again I sank into the damp earthiness of my tiny room, thankful for its darkness. Here I felt closer to my family. Outside the stars could sparkle, the air could be fresh, but inside the contrast could not flaunt itself before me. I need not look at a world untouched by our tragedy.

In the middle of the night I awoke to find myself walking about my dugout. I was completely confused, with no idea of where I was. My bare feet sank into the soft dirt. At last my foot touched the straw rug which led me to my bed, and in bed was still the welcoming warmth of the stone wrapped in a cloth.

Walking around with bare feet had given me a slight cold. The woman was upset; she attributed the setback to the night air, to my first trip outdoors. The men called early in the morning. They were annoyed that I had a cold but agreed with the woman it was best to defer another trip upstairs until I felt better. I heard them say, “Speed up her recovery.”

I lay still another night wrapped in my thoughts. Though the men had said that my family was no more, still I would not believe it How could they be so sure? I would never cease to hope, since I had learned how difficult it was to die. To me their nobility, their trust in God, their character were more impressive than the grandeur of the night. God would not fail them.

But we were separated. That was certainty. Somewhere I would be deposited to face an indifferent world, a world that would not bend its knee to me. I must suppress my identity and make a new life, all alone. God knows how I missed them all. I lay there, one minute hoping, then despairing. I felt close to them in a world which was not theirs nor mine. The woman continued her care of me; I was suspended between two worlds belonging neither to this one nor the one to come. The idea crossed my mind several times that suicide was an easy escape from my misery, but my strong faith based on years of prayer would not permit this lack of will power.

Soon my cold faded away and once more the woman had me climbing the ladder. This time she stood on a chair, put both hands under my arms and lifted me up the few rungs through the trap door. In a few moments I was again in the presence of the same two men.

As before, the only light came from the candle on the table. The windows had the same heavy coverings. I almost said, “Good evening,” but remembered not to, just in time. With no preliminaries the spokesman started immediately.

“We are very much interested in straightening out a few things,” he said. “We want to ask you some questions.”

I was all fear. At Tobolsk, at Ekaterinburg, questions meant traps. Surging through me, I remembered my Mother’s advice: “Answer courteously but give no information.”

“Were they unkind to you in Tobolsk?”

I wanted to tell the truth. In spite of my impaired speech, they wanted me to answer their questions.

“Very unkind, the last days,” I answered.

“What sort of things did they do to you?”

I hesitated. There had been so much torture and suffering, it was difficult to begin with any specific detail. In contrast to the final outcome, the treatment we endured at Tobolsk suddenly seemed trivial. I could not mention anything specific, not yet. The tragedy towered over all events, making all others seem unimportant.

“Everything to contribute to our unhappiness and humiliation,” I said.

“Who were with you in Tobolsk?” he began.

Something I could answer easily. I told him, “Our friends, and household help.” Their faithfulness excited my memories.

“Did they all go with you to Ekaterinburg?”

While in thought, I raised my eyes and saw a door on my right side which apparently led into another room. Through a crack I saw a bright light and a shadow flitting across the crack in a sort of rhythmical motion, as if someone were swinging back and forth. My thoughts were distracted for a moment. My training came to my aid. I could see without betraying what I saw. I hid my surprise at discovering that there were other people in the house besides the two men and the woman. I dismissed my curiosity since I was beginning to have confidence in these men. Their questions must be answered.

I began, “Some went first with Father, Mother, and Marie, Dr. Botkin, Prince Dolgorukov, a maid and Father’s valet. When our parents left Tobolsk the others stayed to take care of us children who were left behind to go later when Alexei should be better.”

What kind of quarters did we have in Ekaterinburg? Did we have enough to eat? Did we ever go outdoors? Did we see our friends? How did we pass the time? These questions were meant to pave the way for more questions that were to come later and to encourage me to answer them. In a way I was glad to confide my sorrow.

When they were through, one of the men signalled the woman, who led me outdoors. My second walk in the air. I had decided to take the outing without once lifting my eyes to the sky. I took short breaths and leaned heavily on the woman’s arm. We walked around the house. Guarding us, I sensed rather than saw, was one of the two men, walking a few feet behind us. At last we were back at the entrance. The house was dark as we entered the first room and passed through the open trap door and down the ladder. The trap door was lowered and I noticed a cloth was nailed on the inside. No sounds must penetrate through that floor. The exertion and gratification at my own courage put me into a sound sleep that night.

I awoke stronger and aware of a new milestone in my march to recovery. Each day the terrifying world I knew nothing of drew closer. I had almost ceased to struggle to keep from entering this world of reality. I was being carried like a leaf floating on the surface of a fast-flowing stream. I could not stop or sink. The prospect of living my life in good health would have been frightening enough, but now I must face ill health and loneliness as well. If only crying could oust these seething tortures.

The woman was busy folding a blanket. When she finished she piled it on her arm, tossed the pillow on top and lowered her chin on it for a firm grip on her burden. Now she was climbing the ladder, load and all. There was something final in the way she climbed. It suddenly dawned on me that she had spent the many nights close by my side. Satisfied that I was out of danger, she was henceforth going to sleep upstairs. I had not been conscious of her presence; misery had made me deaf and blind. Now that her watchful custody was removed, I became frightened and longed for the nearness I had not been aware of.

Without a clock, I had no idea at what time our day started. When the woman appeared, it was morning. The smoky window became a panel of gray after she removed its covering. I always listened for a “Good morning.” But that was all. She never did tell me what I should call her. If I needed her attention, I whispered, “Lady, please.” I did overhear the man call her Iliana or Irina. When she combed my hair, she did it gently. All her services were performed tenderly. I thought I detected a resemblance between her and the man who was the first spokesman. I wished I knew something about these men and the woman.

After an early supper she helped me to get dressed again in the same grotesque clothes and took me to the room above. The same men awaited me; the same rhythmical shadow flitted through the crack. Previously the questions had been of a general nature. Now they began to ask me more personal ones. They asked about Madame Vyrubova. Did she influence the Tsarina? Was she intimate with Rasputin? Did she live in the palace? I did not want to answer any of these questions, yet I did not dare to refuse.

All the time the shadow continued to pass over the lighted crack of the door. Who could it be? Was there someone writing down my answers? I was terrified. Suddenly I became so exhausted that I thought I would fall from the chair. My interrogator saw the situation and excused me. The woman accompanied me outdoors, and we walked around the house several times. Then I returned to my little hole. Once more I sank into my congenial darkness. The woman climbed the ladder, her touch was as soft as a feather. The trap door opened, then lowered back into place, quietly but firmly.

One day she brought me a piece of meat and vegetables. I refused to eat meat. The woman had no longer to bandage my wounds; they had healed sufficiently. Now I felt an itching sensation on my head and the woman was pleased with my progress. “Your hair will cover it nicely,” she said. There in the darkness my hair was growing fast. I was able to braid it.

Ahead of me lay the nightly inquisition. Yet each trip into the outdoors made me more independent physically. Once more and many times later I sat in the question room trying to control myself in the face of the curiosity of these two men and the woman. Now my Mother was the subject of their questioning.

“Did your uncle come from Germany to see the Tsarina?” The shadow in the next room seemed poised for my answer. Suddenly I was glad of the recording. Here was the opportunity to show Mother as the eager helpmate that she really was, trying to report to Father the facts as she saw them in his absence. “Did the Tsarina listen to Rasputin, because she believed in his honesty, foreseeing, and experience?”

I answered, “Whatever Mother did, she did it only for the good of Russia. When Father did not agree with Mother, she accepted his decision as final, knowing she could have no further influence.” I expressed these thoughts as carefully as I could, hoping whoever it was would take them down accurately.

Every evening for some two weeks I was questioned. Each period of questioning lasted about an hour. When each bout was ended I was burning as with a fever. The questions were personal and plentiful. The subjects were continually changed, covering the entire Imperial family and the palace staff, as well as the household employees. Many of these questions seemed so impertinent to me that one night I burst out, “Why are you asking me all this?” They replied, “We only want to know.”

Gradually I began to take in my outdoor surroundings. Not far away I saw a haystack. Beyond it, a dark vastness, perhaps a forest or low hills. During my walks around the house, I noticed that it was square and squat like most peasant houses. I gathered it was made of wood. The roof was shingled. I tried to find my tiny window and finally located it behind the camouflage of hay. I could hardly see it. Now I understood why my room was so dark.

The house stood some distance from the road and a long dirt driveway extended from the road to the rear of the house. To one side was a large shed, perhaps a barn, which apparently did not house any animals since I heard no sounds from it Occasionally I did hear lowing herds in the distance. Perhaps one of these cows was responsible for the milk I received each day. There were no signs of horses or chickens. But several times I heard a faint train-whistle in the distance. I never saw any arrivals or departures. Did these men come from the neighboring houses and walk across the fields? What went on in this house was a complete mystery to me. Did these two men and the woman live in this house? There was another young woman. Was she behind the ill-fitting door? I had only seen the hall and the question room, but I felt sure there was another room in the house. The furnishings I saw were meagre. Perhaps this was an abandoned farmhouse or discarded servants’ quarters attached to someone’s estate. The outside, too, had a deserted appearance. I noticed some hay scattered near the house. My observations were all based on what little I could see in the darkness. I felt sure these people were in someone’s service, or they were using the place as a temporary hideout.

The men became quite friendly. The woman continued her silent care of me. The men talked freely, even joked about my recovery. Without warning, the question I had always suppressed, suddenly broke out. “Why did you rescue me?” I inquired.

The faces of both men turned red. The man I first met was shocked. The second man’s eyes blazed with fury. “What is it that you want to know?” he said.

My feelings were deeply hurt at this coarse reply. My fears returned in full force. The worst must lie ahead.

It was obvious that I must soon go away, otherwise these people would pay the penalty. Now I wanted to stay in my dugout forever. It was mine and I was part of it. I would inscribe my name here, but where exactly? I had nothing with which to write, no crayon, pen or pencil. There was a hairpin on the table. Quickly I was out of bed and standing on the rug. I pulled out the small drawer and set it upside down on my bed and began scratching my name with the hairpin. I bore down with all my strength on the bottom of the drawer and formed the letters and numbers: “A.N.R. 1918.” It could not have been a legible signature but, such as it was, there it would stay, a witness to my habitation, these hairpin hieroglyphics.

A few days after this incident the woman seemed to take unusual pains with my grooming. She braided my hair smoothly. She gave me a fresh pillow which had a lace edging, sat me up and dressed me in one of her jackets. She arranged my covers neatly. By the time she had finished the men were already descending the ladder.

The first man took a small kodak from his pocket and after lighting several candles snapped my picture. A few days later they returned with several prints. I had one of these until it disappeared with my manuscript. The clearest object in the picture was the lace on the pillow case. How different I looked! My nose was still swollen, my jaw caved in, my eyes had many light dots.

“Isn’t it a splendid likeness?” the spokesman was saying.

As they turned to climb the ladder, they reminded me of the danger of their position. “Things are terrible,” they said in unison. “People are lined up and shot at the slightest excuse.”

I gathered that they were more and more frightened at having me around. The questioning continued, followed by a walk each time. How could they think of so many things to ask?

My family would have been surprised at my diplomatic skill. The mystery continued. I learned no more about the house. After each outing I was returned to my dugout. Then I began to feel an undercurrent of excitement which told me that the time of my departure was near.

One day when I was again in the question room, one of the men said, “We can not stay here any longer. We are taking you to another little place. It is very risky. Never forget to be deaf and dumb. Speak only with your hands. We start early in the morning. You will take a short walk now, then sleep until we awaken you.”

Our outing was brief. Once more I was hustled down the ladder. The woman helped me into bed and went away. Some time after midnight, the woman returned. This hour reminded me of the night at Ekaterinburg. I began to cry. Her worn, white face told me only too well that she had worked many hours preparing for our departure. She brought me a cup of milk. Her hand was shaking. I felt a warm feeling of appreciation. I too was trembling. I spilled the milk. She dried the splash on my dress and turned away but our souls were knit together.

She rushed me to dress in the same clothes I had worn before, except that the old dress now had a wide hem. It almost reached to my ankles. My black stockings were well hidden by my high laced shoes and the long dress. She tied a babushka around my head.

Silently she handed me a label which had apparently been removed from someone’s coat or dress. Stamped on brown taffeta in gold were a double-headed eagle and the words, “Mikhailov Moskva.” Mikhailov was the name of a well-known Moscow firm. I could not recall having ever seen such a label and could only guess at her motive in giving it to me. Possibly she thought I would recognize it and surmise something as to what had happened to its owner. I still have it.

I asked once more what had become of my old clothes that I had had on that fatal night. Puzzlingly she replied, “They were so badly bloodsoaked that I had them burned.” I wished to ask her again what became of the items I had had hidden in my clothes. I was afraid. I was at their mercy. I had no choice. There were some fifty large diamonds and pearls and about twenty-five rubies, emeralds and sapphires.

I took a final glance at the room and thought of the uncertain future ahead. Now that I was leaving this tiny spot, I knew that I owed it a great deal. The only thing I had to give it I had already given—my initials.

In front of the ladder I knelt down to pray for a moment for my dear ones. I dreaded to leave the dugout for fear that I might never again visit this part of the world where the remains of my beloved ones no doubt were buried—somewhere nearby.

My mind went back to a question I was once asked: Why did I always stand at some distance from my sisters? I now realized that I must have unconsciously had the premonition that we would some day be separated.

I blew out the candle and groped my way through the room to climb the ladder, and out through the trap door. A clam was being tom from its shell.

In the hall I was greeted with a rush of fresh air. Our departure was to be immediate, with no light of any kind. In a few seconds the woman led me outdoors.