lna we would give up our
visit and telegraph our excuses and regrets to our expectant hostess,
or else come back from St. Petersburg after we had got our precious
trunks once more within our clutches.

All the next day we tried to find some one who spoke English or
French, but to no avail. We spent, therefore, a dreary day. By letting
my companion manage the customs officers in patomime we got through
the frontier without having to unlock anything, although it is
considered the most difficult one in Europe.

The trains in Russia fairly crawl. Instead of coal they use wood in
their engines, which sends back thousands of sparks like the tail of a
comet. It grew dark about two o'clock in the afternoon, and we found
ourselves promenading through the bleakest of winter landscapes. Tiny
cottages, emitting a bright red glow from infinitesimal windows,
crouched in the snow, and silent fir-trees silhouetted themselves
against the moonlit sky. It only needed the howl of wolves to make it
the loneliest picture the mind could conceive.

When we were within an hour of Vilna I heard in the distance my
companion's familiar words, "Pardon me, sir, but do you speak
English?" And a deep voice, which I knew without seeing him came from
a big man, replied in French, "For the first time in my life I regret
that I do not."

At the sound of French I hurried to the door of our compartment, and
there stood a tall Russian officer in his gray uniform and a huge
fur-lined pelisse which came to his feet.

When my companion wishes to be amusing she says that as soon as I
found that the man spoke French I whirled her around by the arm and
sent her spinning into the corner among the valises. But I don't
remember even touching her. I only remembered that here was some one
to whom I could talk, and in two minutes this handsome Russian had
untangled my incoherent explanations, had taken our luggage receipt,
and had assured us that he himself would not pause until he had seen
our trunks taken from the train at Vilna. If I should live a thousand
years I never shall forget nor cease to be grateful to that superb
Russian. He was so very much like an American gentleman.

We were met at the station by our Polish friends, our precious trunks
were put into sledges, we were stowed into the most comfortable of
equipages, and in an hour we were installed in one of the most
delightful homes it was ever my good fortune to enter.

I never realized before what