Listen To The Music That Goes Along With This Chapter.

"Oú est la gare?"

"Oú est la gare?" Dimitri mimicked as Vlad sat in front of him at the kitchen table.

"Good!"

"Why do I have to know how to ask where the train station is anyway?"

Vlad shrugged.  "It's just nice to know."

Dimitri rolled his eyes and looked back down at the worn French Manual in front of him again as Vlad continued the afternoon tutorial lesson.

"Now, translate the paragraph below for me."

"This one?" he asked, pointing to the page.  Vlad nodded.  Dimitri bit his lower lip and proceeded to read it in French first.

"Il était le meilleur des temps, il était le plus mauvais des temps.  That says 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times'."

"Correct.  Proceed."

Dimitri wrinkled his nose.  He was getting tired of these tutorial lessons.  Oh, they had been fun, up until about a month ago when he had started his daily "work" to get money.  He had gone to sleep, then woken up the next morning to an obviously frazzled Vlad.  He didn't know what had happened overnight, but the conversation the night before about his mother was never brought up again.  He didn't know if this had something to do with it or not, but Vlad was gone a lot more, and for longer periods of time.  He didn't come home for lunch anymore, and their tutorial lessons were strict and boring now.  Vlad was preoccupied with something -- Dimitri wondered if he'd ever know.

He translated the rest of the paragraph, then looked up at Vlad.

"What was that from?"

"A Tale of Two Cities."

"By?"

"Charles Dickens."

"I don't understand it."

Vlad sat down beside him and started to translate the meanings that Dickens had been trying to get across to his readers.

"He's starts by talking about how for some people it was wonderful, the 'best of times' or 'the season of light.'  For others, it was the 'worst of times' and 'the season of darkness.'  He is basically setting up the premise of this story."

"Which is?"

"The French Revolution."

Dimitri inclined his head slightly as he looked at the printed words in front of him, but didn't answer.  These very words would mean more to him than anything in only a few years...but for now they just wafted inside his head lazily and settled themselves comfortably in the back of his mind, where other useless facts go, such as the going rate for new shoe buckles and how many hairbows the neighbor Alina wore to church last Sunday.  Nothing important to an average 11 year old, nothing life-shattering.  Vlad stood back up.

"That's enough for today.  I need to go out for a few hours."

"Will you be back in time for dinner?"

"I suppose so."

Vlad gathered his hat and coat and Dimitri stood up.  "My birthday is next week!"

Vlad nodded absently as he tied his scarf around his neck.  "We'll plan something special.  Dasvidanya."  He walked out of the flat and shut the door behind him.  Dimitri frowned and sat down at the table to pout.  He was a pouty child and somewhat unpredictable, and he was in the mood to be all of that right now. He wanted to know what was wrong with Vlad, he really did.  But he obviously didn't want to tell him, so he wasn't going to ask.  He truthfully didn't think he wanted to know.

Vlad walked until he reached his destination: The Petrograd, of the Russian Soviet Federated Socialist Republic, Archives.  What a tongue twister. He didn't like the "Russian Soviet Federated Socialist Republic", and opted for the plain "Russia", and felt the same about Petrograd.  He missed it being called "St. Petersburg", and knew that others in this large city felt the same way.  There was talk of changing both names yet AGAIN -- possibly to Leningrad for St. Petersburg.  Well, it would always be St. Petersburg in his heart, and he and most of the rest of Russia would continue calling it that.

He'd been spending his free lunch time lately and late afternoons after lessons to try and find the information he needed in the archives.  So far, no luck.

He walked in, shutting the door quickly behind him to keep out the early Spring flies.  The desk clerk knew Vlad well by now, and nodded as he passed through to his usual back table in a shady corner.  The late afternoon sun slanted in the dusty windows and made a horizontal checked pattern across the floor.

Vlad had been searching for anything at all about Lara, Mikhail, or Dimitri that he could find.  So far nothing.  He didn't understand why...he would start in a new room today.

He walked in the new room and scanned the tops of the file type cabinets.  He had already checked in here, hadn't he?  Of course, all the rooms looked the same to him at this point after so many endless hours of shifting, sorting, and shuffling.  He walked over to one cabinet and pulled out a thick book.

Oh, now he was SURE he'd been here.  This was one of the first places he had come.  This room held past criminal and family records of people in the new Russia's jails.  There was no trace of a Moisse or Leongard in these records.

Wait a second.  He'd checked the records of the NEW Russia's criminals -- but not the records of IMPERIAL Russia's criminals!  How stupid he'd been, how incredibly dense!  He'd go to the IMPERIAL Russian criminal room.

Now, where was the room?

He wandered around the archive building aimlessly, trying to find the door that he was sure would lead him to all his answers, the key to his new life and to his old one.

No door.

He finally went back up to the clerk at the front office.  The man peered over the top of his book at Vlad, his thick glasses magnifying his eyes and making them seem almost haunting.

"Yes?"

"I'm looking for a certain room here.  The criminals of Imperial Russia under Tsar Niko--."

"Shh!" the man cried, standing up and almost knocking his chair over.  Vlad gulped and shut his mouth.  The man looked around quickly, then motioned frantically for Vlad to come back behind the desk and follow him out the clerk's door to a back room.  Vlad allowed himself to be shuffled in and sat down in a hard wood chair.

"I'm sorry sir," the man said, his tall frame shivering in nervousness, "I'm not authorized to show you that room."

"Then who is?"

"Um...well...Tavarish Lenin."

"WHAT?!" Vlad boomed, standing up.  His large frame towered over the meek man threateningly as his monstrous voice filled up the small back room.  "COMRADE LENIN??"

"Sir, sir, I'm sorry..."

"Not half as sorry as you're going to be," Vlad threatened, "if you don't take me to that room!"  He couldn't believe the words he was speaking -- what was making him this angry, this forceful?  Some inner force that was driving him to try and find the truth.  Surely if he FOUND the truth out about Dimitri and Lara, everything else would fall into place: Sophie, Paris, Russia, his parents, Vointsky.  If he could find this piece of the puzzle, he could fill in the rest by memory, he was sure!

"Sir!" the clerk said, backing towards the door.  "Please, get yourself under control!  I'll call the guards!"

Vlad took a few deep breaths.  It would be foolish to let himself get arrested by the guards.  Pure folly.  If he was caught, he'd never see the files -- he'd BE a file!

"I'm sorry, sir.  Excuse me."  He pushed past the clerk and ran around the corner of the long row of files, back into the entrance foyer.

He walked out the glass doors and into the cold evening air.  He burrowed his hands into his coat pockets and walked.  And walked.  And walked.

Would he NEVER know about Dimitri's mother and father?  About his sister?  His parents?  What about Sophie?  Amongst all this, he'd almost forgotten about Sophie!!  He gulped and wiped a few tears away from his face.  He'd always been sensitive and never afraid to show his feelings, but tears seemed so inappropriate right now.  What good did they do?  He gulped the remaining few back down his throat and walked.  Now he was at the end of the North District of St. Petersburg.  Where did he go now?  No where.  He turned and walked back.

He WOULD get into those records.  He WOULD get his family back together. He WOULD stop this hurt inside of him.  He WOULD.  He vowed to himself that he wouldn't rest until he found the truth about Dimitri, about Lara, about his parents, about Sophie...and most of all, about himself.
~*~
Dimitri scanned the busy street lazily.  He'd already earned almost five rubles today.  This job was getting too easy.  Too simple.  Too...boring.  That was what it really was, it was boring.

He hummed to himself.  He WAS bored, and it was obvious.  He wondered what Vlad had prepared for dinner tonight.  He'd promised that he'd try to get a cake to celebrate his twelfth birthday from the Jensky Bakery.  Today he turned twelve -- not a bad number.  He wasn't quite a teenager, but he felt like he was.  He had the head of an adult.  He saw out of "old eyes", as Vlad put it.  "You're the only child I've ever seen who's 12 going on 20!"  He was slick, polished, always together, always calm and cool...something that most kids his age weren't.  He shrugged and decided to walk home.  Enough boredom for one day.

"Hey!  Kid!"

Dimitri stopped and turned as a man ran up to him.  "Yes?"

"What day is today?"

"April 28th."

"It IS?!"  The man grinned and motioned for a few of his friends to come over.  They walked past Dimitri, talking hurriedly and laughing to themselves.  Dimitri watched them suspiciously.  What was going on?  Why was the day so important?  He'd find out.

He walked quicker, until he was just behind them, yet far enough that they'd think nothing was going on.

"The market's open today!"

 "We can get tickets!  To anywhere we please!"

"You have the money, Ivan?"

"In my pocket."

"Then lets go!"

Where were they going?  Hmm...he'd follow them.

The men ducked into an alley.  Dimitri stopped around the corner and peeked his head around to look.  They were stopping at a back door now and knocking.  What...Where were they going?!

He slid around the corner, staying low and close to the cold wall. His coat rubbed against the rough bricks, causing little fray marks to appear, but he didn't care.  This was interesting, and certainly not BORING at all!  Finally, an adventure!

"The word?"

"Abrikos."

Abrikos...that meant "apricot".  What did APRICOTS have to do with anything?

The man opened the door, and the quartet walked in.  Dimitri wrinkled his nose.  Abrikos, huh?

He sat down on the other side of a dumpster and waited to see who else would appear to go into this magic door.

Soon another group of two men walked by him.  He jumped up and ran behind them.  He stuck his hands in his coat pockets and walked like the rest of the citizens of St. Petersburg: slightly hunched over, head down, trying not to draw too much attention to themselves, blending in with the crowd.  Throughout the past two years he'd become an expert at never being part of a crowd, yet with them at the same time.  Some people never learn this talent --some learn it all too well.  And Dimitri was one of those people.

"The word?"

"Abrikos."  The men STILL hadn't noticed him.  He grinned and waited in the shadows beside them.

The man opened the door and he followed them through the back alley entrance, keeping his head down low, his hat pulled over his eyes firmly.  The man thought he was with their group.  The group didn't even notice him.  He didn't care, as long as he got in.

"New shoes!"

"Coats!  Never worn!"

"Hats!  Bicycles!  Leather bags!"

Dimitri stopped in the middle of the cobblestone street and looked up.  Everywhere around him was people moving, bustling, working.  He smelled popcorn in the air -- something he hadn't smelled in years since working at the palace!  He was caught in the middle of a huge whirlpool of people, swirling around him in a great jumble of fast talking, bargaining, and black dealings.

He felt strangely at home.

"Damian!  Adya!  Over here!"

Dimitri looked over.  His group was moving.  He slowly backed away from them as they walked the other way and went exploring.

"Hey kid!  Porcelain vases!  Get one for your Mama!  Big bargain!"

"Brand new wooden picture frames!  Cheapest place in town to get them!  Buy one!"

Dimitri was in awe as he stopped at each booth and looked.  All this stuff was stolen he knew, but still...

It was coming again.  That feeling of excitement, of adventure that overtook him.  He felt a shiver run up his spine and he grinned as he pushed his way through the crowd.  No one noticed a lost little boy wandering the streets -- but he noticed everyone and everything.  His eager brown eyes took it all in, made it his in his memory.  Stolen goods, forging, cheating, conning and dealing...this all was a separate world than he'd ever known.  It was a world he wanted to know better.  To meet, to embrace, to become a part of.  To make his own world.  Where exactly WAS it?  It resembled the regular St. Petersburg Marketplace, of course, but it was much different...it was illegal.  He was IN AN ILLEGAL MARKET!  He couldn't believe it!  This was where all the black dealings took place, all the thieves came to sell their wares and bargain!  He grinned and crossed his arms satisfactiedly.

"Travel papers!  Tickets anywhere you ask for!  Amsterdam!  London!  Paree!  Amerika!"

He ran up to the booth.  A man was holding up papers and tickets.  Where'd he get these?  It was nearly impossible to get travel papers and tickets out of Russia anymore.  Dimitri pushed his way to the front of the crowd around the man and looked over the booth.

"I'll take one!" a man cried.

"Me too!" another called.

Soon the man had sold all his tickets and papers for prices unbelievable to Dimitri's ears: 20 rubles, 30...even 100 for one special ticket to America.  How had this man gotten these and sold them for so much?

The crowd around the man eventually thinned, until only Dimitri was left, still staring in shock up at him.  The man noticed him.

"Sorry, kid, all sold out..."

"No, it's not that," he said.  "How'd you...why'd you...where'd you get those TICKETS?"

The man laughed.  "Oh here and there..." He leaned in close to Dimitri and whispered in his ear.  "I know a guy who works at the train station.  He steals 'em, I buy 'em from him, then charge twice as much."

Dimitri was shocked.  "You got those illegally?"

"Yeah.  But don't you go squealing..."

"No, I won't!" Dimitri said quickly.  "It's just..."  He shifted uneasily, not knowing what to say.  The man nodded knowingly.

"I understand what you mean, kid.  Not exactly the best of businesses.  But, you make a buck where you can." He started to pack up some crates full of other wares he'd had out to sell.  Dimitri leaned his back against a wooden post and watched him.  The man continued on. "It's dangerous work.  Hard.  Dodgin' the police, watchin' out for other people to pull their own brand of lying over your eyes.  Keeping the goods coming in."

"What goods?"

"Where d'ya think we get all this stuff?" he asked with a laugh.  "They're stolen."

"STOLEN?"

"Yeah.  Get 'em from petty thieves in this area looking to make a quick buck.  They're not too bad here," he held out his hands, "but not to bright up here."  He tapped his head with his finger.  "To be in this business, it's more important to have a brain for common sense than fast hands.  Remember, kid, never get your hands dirty."

 Dimitri ran this advice through his head.  "What do you mean by that?"

"There's levels to thieves, kid.  Y'got your common thieves.  Breaking and entering, pick pocketing, stuff like that.  Then y'got your minor thieves.  They get the bigger stuff, more like spies than anything else.  Then y'got your big-timers, the bank robbers and hold-up men.  They make a pretty penny -- but at the risk of being caught.  Then...then kid, y'got your CON-MEN." The man said the final word like it was as holy as the Notre Dame Cathedral itself. Dimitri's eyes went wide.

"Con-man?"

"Sure.  They never get their hands dirty.  Hard to catch.  They buy the stolen goods from the others and sell 'em for more.  They do the forging.  Nothing like breaking and entering.  Nothing manual.  Everything's up here."  He tapped his head again.  "It's all in the brain."

"In the brain...like an education?"

The man laughed.  "I've never even set FOOT inside a school house.  You know as well as I do that not many people in St. Pete have.  It's all COMMON sense.  Education doesn't hurt though.  The more you know, the farther you go.  The slickest of men are the ones who know their history and how people react."

 "Common sense...like knowing how to lie?  Making choices?"

"Yep.  That and a steady hand to do some forging, and you've got it made."

A steady hand..."Did you FORGE those travel papers."

"Sure did.  All by myself.  Just look how much I made.  You take out the money for ink, about two kopecks, and the onion skin paper, about 4.  That's six kopecks.  Now, I just made 20 RUBLES on one set.  Look how much I made!  I can take that home to feed my kids."  He smiled down at Dimitri.  "Got a kid just about your age, in fact.  Name's Pij.  Y'know him?"

"No," Dimitri said absently.  He didn't want to talk about kids, he wanted to talk about con-men!

"Doesn't matter much.  What's your name?"

Dimitri's guard went up.  "Why's it matter?"

The man grinned.  "Where's the group you came in with here?"

Dimitri didn't answer, just straightened his posture and gave the same cold, unfeeling stare.  The man leaned his elbow on a wooden counter.

"You snuck in here, didn't you?"

"Maybe I did.  Maybe I didn't.  Maybe my father's right over there, buying a necklace for my mother.  Maybe my brother's a thief like you were talking about and he's making a deal.  Maybe I'm an orphan, and don't live with my family.  Heck, maybe I'm a Romanov!"  He grinned.  "Good luck guessing which one."

The man liked him.  He wasn't afraid to stand up and show just how tough he really was.  He needed a kid like this to help him around the stand.

"You got a job, kid?"

"Currently...somewhat."

"Somewhat?"

"Well...not a steady one, if that's what you mean."

"Would you like one?"

"Doing what?"

"Working with me.  I could show you some stuff.  How to forge and do papers. How to make bargains.  You could help me around the stand, watch my wares while I'm making deals.  Last week I had 3 vases stolen, all while I was selling some tickets.  It's too risky being in this business, but it's the only one that makes enough.  If you sell anything while I work, I'll give you some commission."

Dimitri weighed this in his mind.  This man could teach him things.  How to forge and to make deals.  And all HE did was lay back and watch some vases and rugs.  Not bad...not bad at all.

"I'll do it."

"How old are you."

"Twelve today."

"Good age.  And name?"

Dimitri hesitated.  "Dimitri.  Dimitri Leongard."

"So you AREN'T a Romanov, huh?"  The man laughed and Dimitri joined in. "That was a good come-back you had there, kid.  Who do you live with?"

"My...uncle.  Yeah, my Uncle Vladimir."  It wasn't really a lie...well, it was, at least to HIS knowledge it was, but Vlad's name matched up.

"Okay then.  Come back here next week, this day, at 7:30.  And be prepared to work."

"I will, sir."

"My name's Eelia Gennadi.  Just tell the door man the word...I suppose you heard it to get in here."

"Abikos."

"Right.  Meet me right back here, got it?"

"Got it."

"Good."  Eelia finished packing up his wares and picked up the crate.  "See you next week, kid."

"Dasvidanya!" Dimitri said as he backed out of the stand and ran down the cobblestone road back to the exit again.  Imagine!  A job, a real job!  Even more, a job IN the Black Market Area!  He walked right past the guards, head held high.  He was moving on up now!
~*~
"So then I told Eloise about Emilie's newest beau.  And she had the gall to say that SHE was being courted by Jourdain, NOT Emilie!  So, of course, what was I to do but tell Emilie?  It turns out..."

Sophie struggled to keep her eyelids open.  Who CARED about Jourdain, Eloise, and Emilie?  Mrs. Pierre Renaud, or Cerise, as was her real name before she was married, did.  And she insisted on telling her dinner party guest every word of it as Sophie tried not to collapse from boredom right in the middle of the dinner table.  The 'Poires Helene' in front of her looked delicious, and she wondered how she'd even LASTED all the way to the dessert course before sleeping.

"Mrs. Renaud," Alek said from beside Sophie, "what an interesting story. Has Mademoiselle Chantel heard it yet?"

Cerise was caught off guard.  "Why, no, Monsieur Vasha."

"Well, by all means, tell her!  I think Mademoiselle Chantel knows Mr. Jourdain, does she not?"

"Oui!  She does!"  Cerise quickly turned and started to babble on to Chantel, who threw a nasty glance at Alek.  Sophie laughed.

"Oh, that was a good one, Alek!"

"Merci!" Alek said with a grin as he bit into his Poires Helene.  Sophie giggled.

"How dashing to rescue me from the clutches of Cerise!"

"I know how it feels," he said.  "I got caught by Sandre Romain earlier tonight."

"Oh, what a bore!" Sophie clucked sympathetically.  They were both attending Cerise's dinner party together tonight, as they had been for the three years they'd been friends now.  But Sophie had made it clear, ABSOLUTELY clear, that it was JUST friendship.  Alek seemed to have accepted that.

Still no word from Vlad.  Where WAS he?  Had he been killed during the awful fighting STILL taking place over there?  She waited each day expectedly for a letter, a telegram, ANYTHING.  Nothing.  Sophie wiped a strand of her blonde hair from in front of her eyes and took a delicate bite of her Poires Helene.  Parties were wonderful because she could take her mind off everything for a little while.  She hated being alone, trying to think about whether she loved Vlad or still just felt friendship for him.

Alek noticed Sophie's sudden mood change.  She was thinking about HIM again.  He wrinkled his nose and pouted as he finished up his dessert.  Would she NEVER forget about this phantom friend?  He wasn't EVEN courting her!  Alek suspected he was dead or married.  He reached into his pocket.  The box was still there.  Good.  He'd talk to Sophie about this later tonight...for now, he'd enjoy his Cognac and rehearse his speech.

That night, Sophie invited Alek in as usual.  It was still early, only 8:00, and Marie was staying with Sophie for the night.  Marie had taken to staying with Sophie often.  They were both very close to one another, and Marie found a sort of comfort in Sophie's bubbly personality and happy exterior.

Alek sat on a small settee.  Sophie was surprised.  She usually sat there.  She shrugged and sat on the sofa.  Alek frowned and got up, then sat beside her.  Sophie looked at him strangely and scooted to the end.

"Sophie, there is something I want to talk to you about."

"Oui?"

"Sophie, we've known each other for almost three years now...the year is 1919, is it not?"

"OUI."  What was he GETTING at?

"Sophie, I must admit something to you.  I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you."

Sophie gasped.  "WHAT?!"

"Yes, I know, it's surprising, but I have.  And...And I want you to marry me!"

Sophie blinked.  "WHAT?!" she repeated in shock.  Alek kneeled beside the sofa and pulled out the box.  As he lifted the top to reveal a huge, beautiful diamond, Sophie felt the color drain from her face.  A headache was coming once again.  She leaned her head in his hands.  "Non, non," she whispered, shaking her head slightly.

Alek's grin turned into a frown.  "What's wrong, Sophie?"

 "Non," she said again, looking up at him.  "No, you don't feel this way. Tell me you don't."

"But I do!"

"No!" she said firmly, standing up.  "I am very...flattered by your attentions, Monsieur, but I think you'd better go."

Alek blinked.  "What?  But...but why?"

"Because I don't share your feelings."

Alek's sorrow turned to anger.  He lashed out at her.  "It's him, isn't it?  You still love him!  I'll tell you one thing, Sophie, your precious Vlad is NEVER coming back to you!  He never even loved you, he was just your friend!"

Sophie didn't answer, just stood completely still, unmoving, unfeeling, as Alek continued with his rage.

"He's probably married.  Even more DEAD!  He doesn't love you, Sophie!  If he did, why isn't he back here?!  Why isn't he in your arms now?  Sophie, listen to me!  I AM here!  I CAN BE in your arms!  Why won't you admit to yourself and the world that Vlad is gone!?"

"VLAD IS NOT GONE!" she shouted back.  Tears poured freely now, and she struggled to hold her composure amongst them.  "He is alive!  And he will come again!"

"No he won't!  Your friend is a ghost in your mind!  He's gone!  Admit it!"

She took a deep breath and met Alek squarely in the eye.  "You're right.  He is gone.  Maybe I love him, maybe I don't.  But I'm not making a MOVE, until I'm sure.  Which means, Monsieur, your efforts are in vain.  Good evening."  She turned to walk up the stairs, but Alek grabbed her arm.

"Sophie, stay here!  Forget about Vlad, forget about Russia!"

"Get away from me," she said, trying to pull away.  He held firmly.

"Let me help you!  Let me be with you!"

Sophie cried and tried to break loose from his hold.  She kept her face turned away, not wanting to see him or his fancy ring.

"Let go of her," a voice said.  Sophie looked up the stairs.

"Marie!"  She broke loose from Alek and ran up the stairway as fast as she could.  Alek bowed quickly.

"Your Highness, I'm sorry..."

"Leave."  Marie remained cold amongst Sophie's tears on her shoulder.  Alek bowed again, and with a final glance at Sophie, left.

Marie let Sophie cry on her shoulder for a few minutes.  As the sobs stopped, Marie took Sophie's face in her hands.

"Look at all that beautiful make-up running.  You spent an hour on that tonight.  Lets get it cleaned up."

Sophie nodded like a small child and followed Marie upstairs to her bathroom.  Marie sat her on a stool and got a damp cloth.  Sophie wiped away her few remaining tears.

"He proposed."

"I heard."

"I...I don't love him!"

"I know," Marie said, sitting down in a chair beside her.  She gently wiped away the smeared kohl from her cheeks.

"And...and he said Vlad was..."

"Shh," Marie said soothingly.  She wiped away the last of the watery make-up, and reached for a handtowel to dry her face.  "Don't listen to anything he said, Sophie.  You know the truth."

"No I don't," she wept.  "I never will..."

Marie grabbed Sophie's hand.  "You know the truth inside your heart.  You know the answers to everything.  Just as I do."

"Non, non...What about Anastasia?  You don't know the truth about her!"

Marie grimaced.  "No, I don't know the truth about her."  She stood up and walked to the sink to rinse out the dirty washcloth.  "But I have a feeling. I have hope.  And I won't give up on that hope.  There is something I wanted to talk to you about, Sophie."  She turned around and leaned against the back of the sink.

"Oui, Marie?"

"Sophie, you are...you're my best friend."

Sophie smiled and wiped the back of her hand across her cheek.  "You're mine too, Marie."

"Through all this, you've been a bigger comfort to me than you'll ever know, and now...now I'd like to ask you one more favor."

"Yes?"

"I'm thinking of putting out a reward."

"A reward?"

 "For Anastasia's return."

Sophie gasped.  "Marie!  Are you sure that's what you want to do?  You'll get..."

"Yes, I know.  I'll get impostors.  I'll get con-men.  I'll get young actresses, people trying to trick me into giving them my money.  But Sophie...Oh Sophie, what else can I do?"

Sophie bit her lower lip in thought.  "Nothing."

"That's right.  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  Which...which is why I'm going to offer a reward of ten million rubles."

Sophie gasped again!  "TEN MILLION RUBLES!"

"Yes.  For Anastasia's safe return to me.  Sophie, I know my son is dead.  I know my granddaughters are dead.  I know my grandson is dead, my daughter in law is gone.  I feel it in my heart.  But not Anastasia...not Anastasia."

Sophie stood and hugged Marie comfortingly.  "I will do all I can to help you."

Marie smiled and hugged her back.  "Thank you, Sophie.  Thank you so much."

Sophie smiled and wiped away Marie's own tears now.  "Look at us, two cry babies!  I'm in the mood for some creampuffs -- how about you?"

Marie laughed.  "I may just take you up on that offer."

The two women smiled at each other and walked down the stairs together, arm in arm.

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