ll it a city,--was dark and
dreary, and so cold that I resolved to spend the night at the depot
where it was warm at least. I bought some hot tea and a large loaf
of bread at the buffet, and, as a sick and poor soldier who knows his
place, I sat in a corner.

There were some people in the station--mostly peasants, one could
easily recognize such in them; quietly talking and drinking tea with
dignity and care and biting their sugar with the force of explosions.
They never put their sugar into the tea-tumblers. Later a man with a
disagreeable face entered the room and looked around. This was not
a peasant, I said to myself,--he would not take off his hat. The
newcomer was evidently looking for me, as when he noticed me, he first
bought some tea and a sandwich, and then, as if there were no other
place in the room, picked out a seat near me. "An enemy," I thought to
myself and buried my face in my supper.

The man wanted to talk, but evidently felt embarrassed.

"Cold outside, isn't it?" he asked.

A foreign intonation. No accent, however. A Pole or a Russian-German.

"Hm, hm, very!"

"Yes, severe climate, dog's cold. Going to stay in Tumen, or plan to
go further?" he asked after a pause.

"Going to stay, or going further,--what do you ask for? But if
it interests you--going to stay for a while. If I croak here, or
somewhere else--you aren't going to attend my funeral. So what's the
big idea?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing! You see I am a stranger here and lately
live practically at the depot. Am looking for a man by the name of
Vysotsky, so I ask almost everybody for the man."

"Vysotsky?" I asked, assuming an air of astonishment, "Vysotsky?"
(Marchenko and his crowd flashed through my mind, especially in
connection with my mission)--"no, I don't think that I know anyone by
that name."

"Here, here," the man laughed, shoving me with his shoulder, "lay it
out, old man, you _must_ know him"

"No, Comrade" I responded. "You probably take me for some one else,
indeed. I am Syvorotka of the 7th Hussars. We had a man by name
Vysotsky, a sub-lieutenant, but I don't think it's the one you are
looking for: the Vysotsky I knew has been taken prisoner, at Lvov,
or at the Sziget Pass ... yes, at Sziget Pass, of course. Vysotsky,
Vysotsky, what was the Christian name, perhaps that would help me
out?"

"You white-collared trash!" my man suddenly became angry, "you can't
fool me about his first name. Don't be too slick. I'll t