“But certainly,” he answered, and we went into the next room, Akilina following us.
“And now?” enquired Rasputin, seating himself.
I did not mince matters.
“Gregory,” I said bluntly, “you must leave Petrograd at once. You can pray for Their Majesties equally well in Siberia. You must go—for their sakes, I implore you. Go—You know what is said—if you insist upon remaining, it will only mean danger for us all.”
Rasputin considered me gravely—he did not speak. I could see Anna’s “hurt child” look, I could feel Akilina’s sinister scrutiny. Then Rasputin uttered these unexpected words:
“Perhaps thou art right. I’m sick and tired of it all. I’ll go.”
But a surprising interruption occurred. Akilina banged her clenched fist on the table, and confronted me with rage in her eyes.
“How dare you try and control the Father’s spirit?” she screamed. “I say that he must stay. Who are you?—why, a nobody—you are too insignificant to judge what is best for anyone.”
Silence, pregnant with meaning, fell in the little room. Anna was crying, Rasputin said nothing, but I still defied Akilina: the thought of the Empress gave me courage.
“Are you going to listen to the Sister?” I demanded coldly.