t noon and night we stopped at railway stations for our meals. After
Bulgaria and Roumania it was bewildering to see the counters laden with
hot and cold meats and vegetables and appetizing _zakouskas_, and thick
_ztchee_ soup, and steaming samovars for tea. Through the open windows
came refreshing puffs of wind. At the restaurant tables sat officers,
rich Jews, and traveling business men--nothing much in it all to suggest
war. Always, on the station walls were bright-colored portraits, in
heavy gilt frames, of the Czar and Czarina and the royal family. And
always in the corners of the room were ikons with candles lighted before
them at night. The train always started before people had finished
eating. At supper, one of the priests almost got left and had to run for
it, a piece of meat-pie in one hand, the other holding up his flapping
gray gown.

After sunset, more and more officers and soldiers about. At stations,
orderlies elbowing their way through the crowd to secure seats for their
officers; officers shouting to their orderlies; officers alone or with
their families, arriving with valises and bundles and pillows--enough
equipment to meet any eventuality.

Another night to get through somehow, sitting bolt upright in a car
thick with tobacco smoke and smelling of stale food and soldiers' boots.

Once we stopped for an hour out in the fields. Marie and I opened our
window and stuck our heads out of doors to breathe the cool air. Extra
cars had been put on during the day, and we could see the long curve of
the train behind us, with the red squares of the lighted windows. There
was a movement of troops, and soldiers occupied every inch of space. We
could hear them singing soldier songs in parts, with pronounced rhythm
and unutterably sad cadences. Some one played their accompaniment on a
_balalaika_. Back and forth under our train window a woman paced
restlessly. Never shall I forget the soldiers' singing to the
_balalaika_, and the woman with her white face in the darkness, and the
millions of stars so very far away.

The second morning, about eight, we pulled into Kiev. Our train was so
long that we had some distance to walk before reaching the station. As
we approached, I saw a crowd of people being driven into baggage cars. I
was so tired and confused by the journey that I didn't distinguish who
they were at first. When I got close to them, I saw that they were
thin-faced Jews in clothes too big for them. The m