She and Margit occupied a small bedroom together and, as they were quite certain that the beds were verminous, they slept in their clothes, lying on the rugs that Henri brought in from the carriage.
Their supper consisted of a Russian soup that smelt unpleasant and tasted even worse and thick slices of black rye bread.
There was, however, the inevitable but drinkable tea.
It was difficult not to think of the delicious dishes she had been served with the previous evening and the caviar that had been available at any hour of the day.
But hunger, sleeplessness and the smell of the unwashed rooms were unimportant beside the fact that she was much nearer to her father than she had been before.
At least she knew where he was and that was all-important.
Once again they set off at dawn and n
