Zoya by Danielle Steel Page A

the children of the Tsar of Russia. “From friends, I believe. We have made a very long journey.” Her eyes were wise and sad as he looked at her and sensed that they had been through a great deal But even he couldn't dream what misery they'd seen in the past three weeks, how little they had left, or how frightened they were of the future. “We have come from Russia … through Finland and Sweden and Denmark.” He stared at her in amazement, and then suddenly he understood. Others had made similar journeys in the past weeks, fleeing from the revolution. And he guessed easily that there wouldbe more in the ensuing months, if they were able to escape at all. The Russian nobility, or what was left of it, was fleeing in droves, and many of them were coming to Paris.
    “I'm sorry … very sorry, madame.”
    “So are we.” She smiled sadly. “She doesn't have pneumonia, does she?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Her cousin has had it for several weeks, and they've been very close.”
    “I'll do my best, madame. I'll come back to see her in the morning.” But when he did, she was worse, and by nightfall she was delirious with the fever. He prescribed some medicine for her and said it was her only hope. And the next morning, when the desk clerk told Evgenia that America had just entered the war, it seemed almost irrelevant. The war seemed so much less important now, in light of everything else that had happened.
    She ate her meals in their simple room, and Feodor had gone out to buy medicine and fruit. They were rationing bread, and it was difficult to obtain anything, but he was ingenious at finding whatever the Countess needed. He was particularly pleased with himself, for having found a taxi driver who spoke Russian. Like them, he had only been in Paris for a few days, he was a prince from St. Petersburg, and Feodor thought he had been a friend of Konstantin's, but Evgenia had no time to listen to him. She was deeply concerned about Zoya.
    It was several more days before the girl seemed to know where she was. She looked around the small, unadorned room, and looked into her grandmother'seyes, and then slowly she remembered that they were in Paris.
    “How long have I been sick, Grandmama?” She tried to sit up but she was still too weak, at least her fearsome cough was finally a little better.
    “Since we arrived, my love, almost a week ago. You had us all very worried. Feodor has been running all over Paris, trying to find fruit for you. The shortages here are almost as bad as they are in Russia.”
    Zoya nodded, her thoughts seeming to drift away as she stared out the room's only window. “Now I know how Mashka felt … and she was even sicker than I was. I wonder how she is now.” She couldn't bring herself to think of the present.
    “You mustn't think of it,” her grandmother reproached gently as she watched the look of sadness in her eyes, “I'm sure she's well by now. We left two weeks ago.”
    “Is it only that?” She sighed as she looked into her grandmother's eyes. “It seems like a lifetime.” It did to all of them, and her grandmother had barely slept since they left Russia. She had been sleeping sitting up in a chair for days, afraid to disturb Zoya's sleep by sharing the bed with her, and afraid she wouldn't be awake if the girl needed her, but now she could relax her vigil a little bit. That night she would sleep at the foot of the bed, and she needed the rest almost as badly as Zoya.
    “Tomorrow we'll get you out of bed, but first you must rest and eat and get strong again.” She patted Zoya's hand, and Zoya smiled weakly up at her.
    “Thank you, Grandmama.” Her eyes filled with tears as she pressed the once graceful gnarled handto her cheek. Even that brought back painful memories of her childhood.
    “For what, silly child? What have you to thank me for?”
    “For bringing me here … for being so brave … and doing so much to save us.” It had only just dawned on her how far they had come, and