of the Central War Industrial Committee issued its
declaration. There was a reunion of the sister-disciples, at which three
new members were admitted to the cult, all society women under thirty,
and all good-looking. Their names were Baroness Terenine, whose husband
had been Governor of Yaroslav; Countess Chidlovski, one of the
acknowledged society beauties of Petrograd, who had of late had an
"affair" with an Italian tenor named Baccelli; and Anna, the pretty young
daughter of a woman named Friede, who was also a "disciple."

There was a large attendance, and Rasputin exhibited more than the usual
mock piety. In his jumbled jargon, which he called a sermon--that mixture
of quotations from the "Lives of Saints" mingled with horrible
obscenities--he had referred to the terrible rumours.

"These, I fear, my dear sisters, are, alas! too true," he declared.
"Being in the position of knowing much, I beg of you all to pray
ceaselessly, and let these three who to-day join our holy circle take
upon themselves the duty of obtaining fresh converts, and thus ensure to
themselves the blessing of him who stands here before you--the saviour of
Russia."

Then he paused, and all the kneeling women crossed themselves, piously
murmuring, as was part of the creed:

"God's will be done! God's will be done! Truly, our Father Gregory is
holy! Truly, the sacrifice which each and all of us make is made to God!"

The three newly-admitted aspirants, dressed in very flimsy black in the
mode which the monk imposed upon them, knelt before the Father and kissed
his hands, while from his lips fell those awful blasphemies, which,
amazing as it was, hypnotised, neurotic society women believed to be the
truth.

Afterwards Rasputin gave them all tea and cake, he being personally
waited upon by the three neophytes. Then, half-an-hour after the last one
had departed--for the three had remained behind with him for further
private instruction and conversation, as was usual--the Prime Minister
Stuermer was announced.

"I have made the speech you suggested," he declared to the monk as he
sank into a chair. "Phew! what a smell of perfume, my dear Gregory!" he
laughed. "Your sister-disciples have left it behind them. Open the
window, Feodor," he exclaimed, turning to me. "Let us have some fresh
air."

The monk then explained that while Stuermer had made that public
declaration he had told the women that the situation was grave, well
knowing that they,