“Well, Madame, it so happens that I have a child, and he, too, is seven. I can decide nothing, but I am now going to a Council at which Prince Lvoff will be present. He must decide.”
I looked him straight in the eyes. This time he met my gaze fully and squarely.
“I’m perfectly certain that you can do anything you like, without consulting anyone,” I said. This tribute to his vanity appealed at once to Kerensky. With most men vanity is the most powerful factor. Wound a man’s vanity and he will never forgive you; pander to it, and he is your friend for life. Kerensky was no exception: I had discovered the heel of this Russian Achilles.
“You are quite right. Of course I can do what I like. Go back to your room—I’ll send you my answer later in the evening.” He pressed an electric bell on his table. The A.D.C. entered.
“Has Madame Dehn a bed in her room?” asked Kerensky. “If not, see that one is placed there.”
“Oh, I don’t want a bed,” I interrupted. “Please let me go to my child.”
“I’ve already told you,” said Kerensky, “that I’ll let you know later. But ... if I allow you to go home, you must give me your written promise not to act in any way against us.”
The A.D.C. made a sign to the soldiers, Kerensky took no further notice of me, and I was hurried out of the warm flower-scented apartment into the icy corridor.
Black despair overcame me when I regained my room. Kerensky had been non-committal; but I had hopes that my allusion to him as omnipotent might have some favourable effect; so I sat in the corner nearest the door, straining my ears to catch the sound of approaching footsteps.
Shortly after midnight my friend the A.D.C. made his appearance, and, with a theatrical gesture, indicative of boundless space, he advanced, saying: