When I was about a score of yards from the house—shooting started behind me—just as idiotic as in Petrograd or Moscow: in every direction, bullets cracking the windows, the street lamps, the passers-by,—on this occasion myself,—I got a bad one in the sleeve, right near the elbow.

I did not have to knock at the door as I feared running home: the door flew open, and Lucie dragged me in, closing the door behind me on the lever.

"Oh, I am so glad you came! Silly man! Are you wounded? No? I heard it all—I was so afraid that they had shot you! I am so glad, Alex dear! Do stay here, I won't be in your way, honest. Please do stay!…"

(pages missing)

28

(Second letter to M. Goroshkin)

"I must bring to your attention the fact that a certain lady, whom I knew in Petrograd in other days, came here quite unexpectedly, under the name of Lucie de Clive. She was in the plot in June, and at that time was very strongly protected by A.F. K-y, who released her from jail. She is an Englishwoman, but knows Russia well, as in fact, she knows all European countries. She came here the day the L's were killed and Pasha taken away. She made me understand that she is in a new plot to save the Emperor's family. Her task will be to stay here for a while "and make some preparations" and then go farther on.

I must tell you that her arrival here is of great inconvenience to me: in a city like Tumen it became known to the G-ns, and, though the Princess thinks I am nothing much and her morals are not for my class of people, she is a little hypocrite and pulls a long face at me.

I tried my best to avoid having this lady in my house; but the president of the local soviet, who has a great respect for me as Marchenko's protégé, allowed me a short stay for the lady; I explained to him that she is my old affinity—"a civil wife." Therefore, he found it a sufficient reason, but did not like it much, and I am afraid his trust in me may diminish.

Now things have turned out in such a manner that I cannot possibly throw the lady out of my home: but what I want you to do is to notify me at once whether you know something about this arrival and whether Lucie is working for the same purposes. I don't trust her much; she feels it, and plays a strange game with me, the part of an enamored woman. This does not interfere with her writing (and receiving) some correspondence. She takes the letters out when I am busy, so I cannot trail her. I'd rather go away from here, leaving her; I would not care much to be obliged to watch her. There are certain ethics which would prevent me from liking to trail this particular lady.