I crossed the street and went down the slope.  There is a post office on the corner,—­and a soldier near it,—­a regular Lett:  white eyebrows, red face and the meanest steel blue microscopic eyes deeply placed under a low forehead.  He looked at me and impendingly changed the rifle from one shoulder to the other.  I turned upwards and continued all along this “great Liberty Street.”  I did not want to pass near the Mansion.  I turned on the Tuliatskaya, passed two blocks and explored where the Budishchevs were.  Again a Lett, again no eyebrows over the same piggish eyes.  And again a Lett.  Gracious!  One more in here—­and the whole Letvia must be in Tobolsk!

When I knew the city well enough I turned back to Kornilov’s.

The same chamber-lackey opened the rear door almost killing me with the smell of cabbage.

“Dr. Botkin is not in,” he said, when I explained what I wanted, “Sit down, service-man.  Take it”—­he gave me a cigarette with a gold crescent on it—­the kind they served at the Palace.  I looked at the crescent and then at the man.  In one glance he got I was not “service-man,” but he did not show his discovery,—­only got up and continued talking.

“The doctor is very busy right now.  He was asked across the street twice today.  Have you come from Russia?  Demobilized?”

“Yes, quite demobilized,” I answered.  “I must see Mr. Botkin right now, so won’t you please tell him about me as soon as he returns.  Don’t worry about the kitchen—­I cannot stay here:  I’d rather sit outside.”

He showed me through the dining room into the front hall.  From there I could see the Mansion quite well.  A little square in front of it was fenced in, but not very high.  On the front stairs I noticed two women and a boy, in whom, notwithstanding his torn-out shoes and unhappy looks, I recognized the unfortunate Heir to the Russian Throne.  Someone called him in—­and he went slowly into the house.  Two Reds passed near the women smoking pipes and dragging the rifles by their bayonettes.  They both looked piercingly at the women and exchanged a few words with each other.  The women slowly moved toward the house.  Their life must be a real torture within this fence!

A man of medium height passed from the Mansion and crossed the street.  He entered the Kornilov House, and after short conversation with the chamber-lackey,—­

“Did you wish to speak to me?” he asked,—­I am Dr. Botkin.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now,—­what is it?”

“I come from Tumen, Dr. Botkin.  I have brought you a letter from your friends.”

A grimace passed over his face, and he stared at me with suspicion.  “Tumen?  Who are you?”

“I hardly think my name would tell you anything, doctor.  Here is the letter.”  He stopped my movement: 

“Please, please, not here.  Let’s go in.  Don’t be so sure of this place.”

We entered the dining room, and he took the letter and opened the envelope.  After reading—­there were no more than two pages—­he said: