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Llysette and asked,  You will be here several more days, will you not,
Mademoiselle duBoise?
 Oui, votre majesté.
 Would you consider giving a short private concert for our family, some close
friends, and relatives, in the concert hall in the Winter Palace . . .
perhaps, this Saturday night?
 Delighted, we would be. Llysette bowed her head just slightly.
 Excellent! The children and many others will hear what they should have heard
tonight. The tzar smiled patronizingly.  I understand that you cannot do an
entirely new program, but if you could add one or two songs we did not hear .
. .
 We will do what we can. Llysette offered a true diva's curtsy, mixed with a
warm smile.
 Then we will see you on Saturday night. I will send a note.
There must be something about royalty and tzars and the like, because we could
sense, without a word, that the audience was over.
We followed Minister Kent back to the reception area, but it was already
almost empty except for embassy people. After reclaiming our heavy coats, we
walked back down the stairs and out to the limousine. I gathered that the
other performers had already left.
Perhaps fifteen students had waited outside, huddled inside coats, under a
clear sky, with a biting wind out of the north. As they saw Llysette, they
inched forward, and one called something.
 They'd like your autograph, Commander Madley translated.
 I will sign.
So we all stood in a circle behind her.
 If you would tell me their names . . . Llysette smiled.
Although she was shivering under the heavy coat in the night chill, Llysette
patiently wrote down the transliterated names and signed programs for close to
twenty young people.
When she was done, as we turned toward the limousine, I saw a patch of faint
white by one of the stage doors. Several of the departing students stopped and
pointed as well.
 Can you hear what they said? I asked the commander.
 I couldn't hear it all, sir. Something about the ghost of a singer.
 Pauvre femme, Llysette said in a low voice before we climbed into the
limousine for a quiet tripback to our quarters in the embassy.
I didn't even put a hand near the pocket where Dietre's envelope rested, not
until we were back in our quarters, and I took off my jacket and laid
everything in it on the highboy. After hanging the jacket upI unsealed the
envelope.
There were only three sheets of paper there.
The first was a slightly yellowed newspaper clipping from the Times of London,
dated January 17, 1994 nearly two years ago.
St. Petersburg (BNI).  Heavy bombers will be dinosaurs, claimed the Russian
Minister of War Putyatin last week. Putyatin also stated that Russia could not
afford to build useless heavy bombers that would soon be  obsolete, but
would concentrate on  the weapons of the future. Many interpreted that to
mean that the Perun rocket was being developed as a prototype of a multiple
warhead delivery system. . . .
This morning it was revealed that Putyatin had died suddenly of an undisclosed
illness in St. Petersburg. Details were not available. . . .
This is not the first time that a high minister has died unexpectedly after
revealing information that might be considered harmful to Russian interests. .
. .
The Russians contend that, as a prototype, the Perun is not yet a weapons
system and does not fall under the provisions of the High Frontier Treaty.
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The second clipping was also from the Times and dated May 23, 1995, more than
a year later.
St. Petersburg (BNI). Refuting Austrian claims that Russia was systematically
flouting the High Frontier Treaty, Minister of Communications Lamanov stated,
 The Perun is being developed strictly for research purposes.
 Research is a convenient fiction, retorted Austrian Foreign Minister
VonBraun.  Last year it was a weapons system of the future. Now it is a
research tool. . . .
The third item in the envelope was a single sheet of paper, on the topof which [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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