Most of these words meant nothing to me. But I grasped the essential. Nicholas was no longer the tsar, and the news of his downfall had inspired an ecstatic explosion of joy among the people who, only yesterday, were cheering him and wishing him a long and prosperous reign. Indeed I had a very clear memory of Heredia's voice, which still echoed round our balcony:

It was thy father forged a bond that tied Russia to France, in brotherly hope allied. Hear now great Tsar, how France and Russia bless Thine own name, with thy patron's name, no less!

Such a reversal seemed to me inconceivable. I could not credit so base a betrayal. Especially on the part of a president of the Republic!

The front door banged. Hastily I gathered up all the papers, closed the suitcase, and pushed it under the bed.

At dusk, because of the rain, Charlotte lit her lamp indoors. We took our places beside her exactly as we used to in our evenings on the balcony. I listened to her story: Nicholas and Alexandra were in their box at the theater, applauding Le Cid. … I observed their faces with a disillusioned sadness. I was the one who had glimpsed the future. This knowledge weighed heavily on my child's heart.

"Where is the truth?" I wondered, as I followed the narrative distractedly. (The imperial pair stand up, the audience turn to give them an ovation.) "These same spectators will soon be cursing them. And nothing will remain of these few fairy-tale days! Nothing…"

The ending, which I was condemned to know in advance, suddenly seemed to me so absurd and so unjust, especially at the height of the celebration, amid all the bright lights of the Comédie Française, that I burst into tears, pushed aside my little stool, and fled to the kitchen. I had never wept so uncontrollably. Furiously I shrugged off my sister's hands when she tried to comfort me… (I so resented her, she who still knew nothing!) Through my tears I cried out despairingly: "It's all a cheat! They're traitors! That liar with his mustaches… Some president! It's all lies…"