Zoya

“Nothing. Only that they are still under house arrest at Tsarskoe Selo, God only knows how long they will keep them there. At least they're comfortable, if not safe.” No one was safe anymore, anywhere in Russia. At least not the people they knew. “Will you stay in Paris?” They had nowhere else to go, any of them, and other Russians were filtering in day by day, with amazing tales of escape, and their terrible losses. To an already burdened city they were adding ever growing numbers.

“I think so. It seemed better to come here than anywhere else. At least here we're safe, and it's a decent place for Zoya.”

He nodded in agreement and darted the taxi in and out of the traffic. “Shall I wait for you, Evgenia Peterovna?” It made her heart sing just to speak Russian again, and to speak to someone who knew her name. He had just pulled up in front of the jeweler's.

“Would you mind terribly?” It would be comforting to know he was there, and to return home again with him, particularly if the jeweler gave her a great deal of money.

“Of course not. Ill wait here.” He helped her out of the car carefully and escorted her to the door of the jewelry store. It was easy to imagine what she was going to do there. It was the same thing all of them were doing, selling everything they could, all the same treasures they had smuggled out with them, which only weeks before were baubles they took for granted.

The Countess emerged half an hour later with a dignified air and Prince Markovsky asked her no questions as he drove her back to the hotel. She seemed more subdued, though, as he helped her out of the cab on the rue Marbeuf and he hoped that she had gotten what she needed. She was very old to be forced to survive by her wits and selling her jewelry in a strange country, with no one to care for her, and a very young girl to take care of. He wasn't sure how old Zoya was, but he was certain that she was considerably younger than his own daughter, who was almost thirty.

“Is everything all right?” He was worried as he escorted her to the door, and she turned to him with wounded eyes.

“I suppose so. These are not easy times.” She glanced back at the waiting taxi and then into his eyes. He had been a handsome man in his youth and he still was, but like her, there was suddenly something different about him. It had changed all of them. The very face of the world was no longer the same since the revolution. “It's not easy for any of us, is it, Vladimir?” And when there was no jewelry left to sell, she wondered to herself, then what will we do? Neither she nor Zoya was able to drive a taxi, and Feodor spoke no English at all and wasn't likely to learn. He was almost more of a burden than a help, but he had been so faithful, and so loyal in helping them escape, she could not let him down. She had to be responsible for him, just as she was for Zoya. But two hotel rooms were twice as expensive as one, and with the insignificant amount of money she had gotten for her ruby necklace and earrings, she had little hope of their funds holding out for much longer. They would have to think of something very creative. Perhaps she could take in sewing, she thought to herself, as she bid Vladimir good-bye with a distracted air. And she suddenly looked older than she had an hour before when she left for the jeweler's. Prince Markovsky kissed her hand and absolutely refused to let her pay him. She wondered if she would ever see him again. She felt that way about everyone now, but two days later, she came downstairs with Zoya and Feodor to find him waiting for her in the lobby.

When he saw her he bowed low and kissed her hand again, glancing with kindly eyes beyond her at Zoya, and then with obvious surprise at how lovely she was, and how grown up. She had come to be a considerable beauty. “I must apologize for intruding upon you, Evgenia Peterovna, but I have just heard of an apartment … it's quite small, but near the Palais Royal. It is not … quite … the most ideal neighborhood for a young girl, but … perhaps … perhaps it might do. You mentioned the other day how anxious you were to find a place to live. It has two bedrooms.” He glanced past her at old Feodor with sudden concern. “Perhaps that won't be large enough for all of you, though …”

“Not at all” She smiled up at him as though he had always been her dearest friend. It suddenly meant so much to see a familiar face, even one that she hadn't seen so very often before. It was at least a face from the not so distant past, a relic from home, and she introduced him quickly to Zoya. “Zoya and I can easily share a room. We are doing so here at the hotel, and she doesn't seem to mind it.”

“Of course not, Grandmama.” She smiled warmly at her and gazed with curiosity at the tall, distinguished Russian.

“Shall I arrange for you to see it, then?” He seemed very interested in Zoya, but her grandmother seemed not to notice.