ief's watchful, narrow eyes,
and the horn-rimmed spectacles of the friendly spy, and the stuffed
portfolio.

_Later._

Nothing has happened yet. We have our meals brought to us by Antosha,
who tries to comfort us with extra large pickled cucumbers and portions
of sour cream. We are allowed to send Panna Lolla downtown for
cigarettes and books from the circulating library. Thank Heaven for
books! With our nerves stretched to the snapping-point and a pinwheel of
thoughts everlastingly spinning round in our heads, I think we should go
mad except for books. It is very hot, but my body is always cool and
damp, because I can't eat much, I suppose, and lie on a _chaise longue_
motionless all day long. I can feel myself growing weak, and there is
nothing to do but sit and wait.

Marie and I go over and over the whole thing, and finish at the point
where we began. "But why?" We think it may be because Marie came to
Bulgaria to visit me and brought me back here, and now we want to leave
Russia together. The papers say that Bulgaria already has German
officers over her troops. But I can't believe it. She is too
independent. They say that she will certainly go with the Central
Powers. That, too, is inconceivable. Perhaps, however, if it is true,
and already known by the Russian authorities, the secret service is
suspicious of our going back there, and of Marie's intention of sailing
home from Dedeagatch, via Greece. What else could it be? How this
uncertainty maddens us! Yet we are thankful for every day that passes
and leaves us together. What will happen when they translate my letter?
_Boje moy!_ I hear a step outside the door, and my heart simply ceases
to beat.

Pan Tchedesky to-day tiptoed into our room when the spy was having his
lunch. He whispered to us that he had seen the English Consul, Mr.
Douglas, and told him about our case. He begged us not to be
discouraged, and to eat. He said that he almost wept when he saw our
plates come back to the kitchen, untouched. How flabby and livid he
looked, his vague, blurred eyes watery with tears! Yet we could have
embraced him. He is the only person who has spoken to us.

The sun is golden on the old convent wall across the street. The convent
is empty during the summer. Only the richest Court ladies send their
daughters there to be educated, and the Dowager Empress visits them when
she passes through Kiev. The trees in the garden are gold