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he’d dressed up in his mother’s finest dresses and jewels and then visited the most expensive restaurants. There was even a story floating about that the King of England, upon spying the young prince in a diamond-studded dress in London, had made suggestive inquiries via one of his footmen. And even though Prince Yusupov, nearly thirty years of age, was now married to the Tsar’s niece, Princess Irina, it was widely believed he still suffered from “grammatical errors.” This, I had quietly assumed, was why the young man had become such a frequent visitor to our household: Surely Papa, who had treated a number of women for lust, was likewise treating Prince Felix.
    “So do tell me, child, where is your father?” said Prince Felix, lifting his bare arms from beneath the blanket and stretching.
    Good God, I realized, quickly averting my eyes, he’s not only in Papa’s bed, he’s lying there in nothing but his undergarments. Glancing over at a chair, I saw that the clothes so casually strewn there were actually Prince Felix’s military shirt and pants and that his tall leather boots stood nearby on the floor.
    “Has he gone out to hear some Gypsy music?” pressed the prince.
    “I don’t know,” I replied, my voice faint.
    “Really? You don’t know if he’s off at the Villa Rode? The Bear? If I knew where he was, perhaps I could catch up with him.”
    “I said I don’t know.”
    “Well, if he’s not at some restaurant, perhaps he’s off with some princess, hmm? Or who else? What is it, my dear, why the silence? Why aren’t you talking to your Fedya?”
    Usually, I was quite friendly with the prince. Usually, we would talk for hours. Tonight, however, I kept my silence.
    “I can see you’re hiding something, Maria, my sweet. What is it? Is your papa off at the Palace in Tsarskoye?” He laughed and, with a devious twinkle in those slim delicate eyes, said, “Perhaps the better question is, where have you been? That’s why you’re so quiet, isn’t it? Have you been off on a little affair of your own? Tell me everything. Have you a lover?”
    “Fedya!”
    “You do, don’t you! Well, is he your first? Handsome? A soldier? I promise not to tell your father!”
    “Please, Fedya, that’s not it at all. It’s just terribly late and-” I went to the window and looked down on the street; the motorcar was gone. “Did you see any of the security agents when you came?”
    “Of course not. That’s why I always come up the rear staircase into the kitchen-just to avoid them. Of course, my dear, you know it’s best if I’m not seen coming here.”
    Actually, I didn’t understand, for I agreed with those of my father’s followers who thought it shameful that Prince Yusupov would only sneak into our home through the back way under the cover of night. What was wrong with sunlight and the front door?
    “Now don’t change the subject, my sweet Maria. Tell me about yourself and where you’ve-”
    “What about Dunya? Was she here when you came? I’m quite worried-she’s not here now, and-”
    “Calm down, little one. Everything’s all right. Dunya was here when I came. In fact, she was the one who let me in. But she was so tired, I sent her up to bed and told her I’d personally wait until Father Grigori returned.”
    “Oh.”
    I bowed my forehead into my palm. So everything was all right? Everyone was safe? But what about the guards-where were they? And who had chased me up the stairs?
    “What is it, Maria? What’s troubling you so?”
    I turned around to see Prince Felix, wearing only an undershirt, underpants, and socks, climbing out of my father’s bed. It was not the first time I had seen a man so scantily clothed, of course, for back home our entire family would traipse through the snow to cleanse ourselves at the banya-the sauna-while in summer we all bathed in the River Tura. It had all been quite natural and innocent, without the least impure thought. But somewhere I knew that Fedya’s