"
"Are the Ministers here?"
"They are meeting in some room-I don't know where.'
"Are the Bolsheviki coming?"
"Of course. Certainly, they are coming. I expect a telephone call
every minute to say that they are coming. But we are ready. We have
_yunkers_ in the front of the Palace. Through that door there."
"Can we go in there?"
"No. Certainly not. It is not permitted." Abruptly he shook hands
all around and walked away. We turned to the forbidden door, set in
a temporary partition dividing the hall and locked on the outside.
On the other side were voices, and somebody laughing. Except for
that the vast spaces of the old Palace were silent as the grave. An
old _shveitzar_ ran up. "No, _barin,_ you must not go in there."
"Why is the door locked?"
"To keep the soldiers in," he answered. After a few minutes he said
something about having a glass of tea and went back up the hall. We
unlocked the door.
Just inside a couple of soldiers stood on guard, but they said
nothing. At the end of the corridor was a large, ornate room with
gilded cornices and enormous crystal lustres, and beyond it several
smaller ones, wainscoted with dark wood. On both sides of the
parquetted floor lay rows of dirty mattresses and blankets, upon
which occasional soldiers were stretched out; everywhere was a
litter of cigarette-butts, bits of bread, cloth, and empty bottles
with expensive French labels.
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