...
M. Kerensky's letter to Grimm--alone would make me happy if some day
its contents are known....
Where is Lucie now? How empty my house is!
The Princess came out to me in the garden and asked me whether I could
go to Tobolsk and deliver a letter to Mr. Botkin there.
"Of course, I can, your Ladyship, if I have enough money."
"I don't mean that," she answered coldly, looking with disgust at the
manure I was mixing, "don't worry, we will pay you. I mean whether you
could arrange with your Bolsheviki for a permit."
"Why not?" I answered, "they do not want _me_. I am not a _rich man_,
nor a _Nobleman_...." (I simply love to annoy her).
"That will do, Alexei," she said, casting at me a nasty look, "You may
come for the letter at dinner time. Tell the cook that you want to see
me."
She does not think that I am a man. She hates me. Under my beard and
shabby flannel shirt she sees neither my face nor my person. She has
no shame before me: were I in my uniform of a gentleman-in-waiting,
cleanly shaven and speaking her language, and not in the one I
acquired lately, she would have buttoned her shoes, gartered her
stockings, and would not have shown the bad quality of her corset
cover under her wide-opened _robe-de-chambre_. If she only knew how
her hired help understood her.
At four I was in the kitchen. Here--another interesting phase of life!
The woman from Moscow who claims to be a cook, does not think I am
from her midst, but feels with her organic cleverness that I am an
imposter.
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