Soldiers are marching with the music, the boys are cheering. The women are arguing. Now everyone is walking around leisurely, with grace, happy and dignified. Just for this the coup is blessed.
It was not quite as cold as yesterday. The day went as usual.
A new band descended from the mountains—horse marines, thugs, whom even the Bolsheviks feared. Bandits armed to the teeth, atop stolen horses, flew into our yard with red flags. On the flags the promising, “Death to the bourgeoisie!”, “Death to counterrevolutionaries!”, “Death to property owners!” Suddenly one of them asked if it were true that I killed Rasputin. When I said that it was true, they drank to my health and announced that if it indeed were so, neither I nor my family had anything to fear.