The French implant grafted in our hearts did not stop either my sister or myself from leading an existence similar to that of our comrades: Russian became our regular language once more, school shaped us in the mold of exemplary Soviet youngsters, paramilitary exercises accustomed us to the smell of powder; to the crack of practice grenades; to the idea of the western enemy we should one day have to fight.

The evenings on our grandmother's balcony were no more, it seemed to us, than a childish dream. And when during our history lessons the teacher spoke of "Nicholas II, known to the people as Nicholas the Bloody," we made no connection between this mythical executioner and the young monarch who had applauded Le Cid in Paris. Not at all; they were two different men.

One day, however, more or less by chance, this juxtaposition took place in my head: without being asked, I began to talk about Nicholas and Alexandra and their visit to Paris. My intervention was so unexpected and the biographical details so abundant that the teacher seemed taken aback. Snorts of amazement spread around the classroom: the rest of the class did not know whether to regard my speech as an act of provocation or as a simple fit of delirium. But already the teacher was regaining control of the situation; he rapped out, "It was the tsar who was responsible for the terrible catastrophe at Khodynka Field – thousands of people trampled to death. It was he who gave the order to open fire on the peaceful demonstration of January 9, 1905 – hundreds of victims. It was his regime that was guilty of the massacres on the River Lena – a hundred and two people killed! It was by no means a coincidence that Lenin picked his name. He even used his own pseudonym to excoriate the crimes of tsarism!"

But what affected me most was not the vehement tone of this diatribe. It was a disconcerting question that formulated itself in my head during the break, while the other pupils were assailing me with their mockery.