“Do you mean to tell me that you are a cripple?” he stammered.
“I’ve always used a crutch since my railway accident,” she said, helplessly, “I couldn’t avoid being in an accident, could I?”
“Extraordinary, extraordinary,” muttered the officer—he was still looking at her—“now, come along.” But Anna threw herself on my neck, and refused to leave me. Her sobs were heart-breaking. To do them justice, the soldiers handled this butterfly broken on the wheel very gently. A group of journalists, male and female, all equally unkempt, were busy taking notes, and they glanced half-scornfully and half-pityingly at the shrinking figure of Anna Virouboff as she disappeared in the darkness.
CHAPTER VI
The long days passed in their monotonous progress. I no longer seemed to belong to the outside world. I heard nothing, nobody came near me—I was as one dead. But, if my days were monotonous, my nights were full of horror. When darkness fell, and the authorities relaxed their incessant watchfulness, the soldiers became brutish ... when I say that I dared not fall asleep, some idea may be gathered of my dread! I had never met the eyes of lust until now ... but it was impossible not to understand the glances of many of the soldiers. And I was not under any false illusions about the morality of freedom, it might surely be called the Freedom of Immorality! I thought of my husband far away in England, of my child lying ill within a short distance of my prison, and of that dear family for whose sakes I would gladly suffer untold misery. Memory opened her book, and I saw within its pages people and scenes which stirred many bitter-sweet recollections in my heart. Once again I walked under the linden trees at Revovka, and listened to the nightingales. I saw the forgotten grave with the wild rose weeping her petal-tears over la morte amoureuse; once again I stood in the Winter Garden waiting to see the Empress, sometimes I played with Titi and the Grand Duchesses and heard the Empress’s kind voice. The pale face and hypnotic eyes of Rasputin recalled my pilgrimage.... The church towers and houses of Tobolsk rose against the evening sky, the dark and sinister river flowed past me....
Memory turned back more pages of her wonderful book, and I saw the Tsarkoe Selo of yesterday, the sick children, their fragile mother, and the Emperor, to whom Destiny had proved so cruel.
I endeavoured to preserve a calm mental outlook, it was useless.... I wondered whether escape might be possible, but my room was situated on the fourth floor, I dared not risk the descent from the window. One idea obsessed me. I must see Kerensky, and this idea grew more intense when I heard that I was shortly to be removed to another prison. “They are making enquiries about you,” said the A.D.C.
“Well, I want you to do something, and inform the Minister Kerensky that I would like to see him.”
The A.D.C. was evidently startled by my request.
“Hm ... I’ll do my best, but—” his gesture was significant of the hopelessness of such a request.