could he know that the Americans understood
Russian, and that this plain act of "getting rid" of us would weigh on
our minds all the way to the Russian frontier?

At Wirballen the police evoked a throb of gratitude from our relieved
hearts. No one seemed to suspect that the American government owned a
consul in Berlin who could write his name on our huge parchments, which
contrasted so strongly with the compact little documents from other
lands.

"Which are your passports?" asked the tall gendarme who guarded the door
of the restaurant, as we passed out to take our seats in the Russian
train.

"The biggest," I replied, without mentioning names, and he handed them
over with a grin. No fuss over passports or custom-house, though we had
carefully provided cause! This was beginning badly, and we were
disappointed at our tame experience.

On our arrival in St. Petersburg, we were not even asked for our
passports. Curiosity became restless within us. Was there some sinister
motive in this neglect, after the harrowing tales we had heard from a
woman lecturer, and read in books which had actually got themselves
printed, about gendarmes forcing themselves into people's rooms while
they were dressing, demanding their passports, and setting a guard at
their doors; after which, gendarmes in disguises (which they were clever
enough to penetrate) followed them all over the country? Why was it thus
with them, and not with us? The _why_ ripened gradually. We inquired if
the passports were not wanted.

"No; if you intend to remain only a few days, it is not worth while to
register them," was the startling reply; and those wretched, unwieldy
parchments remained in our possession, even after we had announced that
we did not meditate departing for some time. I hesitate to set down the
whole truth about the anxiety they cost us for a while. How many
innocent officers, in crack regiments (as we discovered when we learned
the uniforms), in search of a breakfast or a dinner, did we not take for
the police upon our tracks, in search of those concealed documents! Our
excitement was ministered to by the Tatar waiters, who, not having
knowledge of our nationality, mistook us for English people, and wrecked
our nerves by making our tea as strong and black as beer, with a view to
large "tea-money" for this delicate attention to our insular tastes.

If no one wanted those documents, what were _we_ to do with them? Wear
them as breastplates (f