Even an excellent luncheon did not raise my spirits.  Our rooms were as dark and gloomy and silent as a mausoleum.  Indeed, many a mausoleum I have seen has been much more cheerful.  It was at the time of year also when we had but three hours of daylight—­from eleven until two.  Our salon was furnished in a dreary drab, with a gigantic green stove in the corner which reached to the ceiling.  Then we entered what looked like a long, narrow corridor, down which we blindly felt our way, and at the extreme end of which were hung dark red plush curtains, as if before a shrine.  We pulled aside these trappings of gloom, and there were two iron cots, not over a foot and a half wide, about the shape and feeling of an ironing-board, covered with what appeared to be gray army blankets, I looked to see “U.S.” stamped on them.  I have seen them in museums at home.

I gazed at my companion in perfect dismay.  “I shall not present a single letter of introduction,” I wailed.  “I’m going to Moscow to-morrow.”

Instead of going to Moscow in the morning, we went out and decided to present just the one letter to our ambassador.  He was at the Hotel d’Europe, and we went there.  Behold! electric lights everywhere.  Heaps of Americans.  And the entire Legation there.  My companion and I simply looked at each other, and our whole future grew brighter.  We would not go to Moscow, but we would move at once.  We would introduce electricity into our sombre lives, and look forward with hope into the great unknown.  We rushed around and presented all the rest of our letters, and went back to spend a wretched evening with eight candles and a smoky lamp.

The next day we called for our bill and prepared to move.  To my disgust, I found an item of two rubles for the use of that lamp.  I had serious thoughts of opening up communication with the Standard Oil Company by cable.  But we were so delighted with our new accommodations in prospect that we left the hotel in a state of exhilaration that nothing could dampen.

To our great disappointment we found a number of Americans leaving St. Petersburg for Moscow because the Hermitage was closed.  Now, the Hermitage and the ceremony of the Blessing of the Waters of the Neva were what I most wished to see, but we were informed at the Legation that we could have neither wish gratified.  However, my spirit was undaunted.  It was only the American officials who had pronounced it impossible.  My lucky star had gone with me so far, and had opened so many unaccustomed doors, that I did not despair.  I said I would see what our letters of introduction brought forth.

We did not have to wait long.  No sooner had we presented our letters than people came to see us, and placed themselves at our disposal for days and even weeks at a time.  Their kindness and hospitality were too charming for mere words to express.

Although the Winter Palace was closed to visitors, preparatory to the arrival on the next day of the Tzar and Tzarina, it was opened for us through the influence of the daughter of the Commodore of the late Tzar’s private yacht, Mademoiselle de Falk, who took us through it.  It was simply superb, and was, of course, in perfect readiness for the arrival of the imperial family, with all the gorgeous crimson velvet carpets spread, and the plants and flowers arranged in the Winter Garden.