Myself (angrily): “I know best why I left him. You call yourself a patriot ... I suppose you put the love of your country before family ties? I love the Imperial Family, they come before my family ties. You’ve taken me away from them—I haven’t gone willingly. Why deprive me of my child?”
Kerensky (with sinister emphasis): “Listen, Madame Dehn, you know too much. You have been constantly with the Empress since the beginning of the Revolution. You can, if you choose, throw quite another light on certain happenings which we have represented in a different aspect. You’re DANGEROUS.”
A long silence.
Kerensky: “Can you explain why all orders from the Empress passed through you? You had no official position ... it’s a most suspicious occurrence.”
Myself: “We were practically isolated in the private apartments through fear of contagion. Besides, what orders could the Empress give without their being known to you?”
Kerensky: “The servants are witnesses that all orders came through you. Enquiries will reveal the truth ... if you are honest ... well and good. If not ... that’s another matter.”
I looked at him. Kerensky seemed absolutely implacable, but I decided to make one last appeal. He apparently loved flowers; this proved that, as his senses could be appealed to, why not his heart?
“If you had a child of your own, you’d understand my feelings,” I said.
Kerensky surveyed me with that now familiar appraising scrutiny. “I don’t think much of you as a mother,” he replied, smiling coldly, “but—how old is your child?”
“He is seven.”