looked again at his watch. And
Baxter, thinking of the pretty _femme de chambre_, once more was
tempted to give notice.

CHAPTER XVIII

On and on, during long days and restless nights, our Don Quixote
journeyed--for was not Paul like that noble knight, endeavouring to
recall a long dead past unto life? After all, there was only one
Dulcinea del Tobosa--and she was still, and ever would be, the most
beautiful woman in the world.

One morning, at length, Paul awakened from a troublous sleep. The
train had stopped, and looking out of the window in the early mist he
saw some strange figures standing by the side of the track--bearded
men, mostly, with brilliant scarlet shirts, and trousers tucked into
huge clumsy boots--some of them half-covered with long white aprons.
He recognized these gentry as customs officials and porters. At last
he had reached the Russian frontier!

He dressed quickly, eager, for the first time in his life, to have his
baggage examined and his passports inspected. Usually Paul regarded
such performances as a violation of the Heaven-sent rights of an
Englishman to wander unmolested over the face of the earth. But
now--once the ceremony was over--it meant that he was one step nearer
the goal.

Having satisfied the zealous subjects of the Tsar that he was neither
a Nihilist nor a Jew, and that his luggage contained no high
explosives, nor other contraband goods, Paul's history was carefully
written down in a leather covered book, and he was granted the right
as an English gentleman to seek amusement where he would throughout
the domains of the Little Father at St. Petersburg.

The other passengers having in their turn been duly examined, the
train at last moved on, to drag itself monotonously for hour after
hour through countless cornfields and stretches of forest. At
last--and Paul had begun to think the time would never come--he
stepped down and stretched his tired muscles in the railway station at
Warsaw. The prospect of a good hotel, with a tub, a well-served dinner
and a real bed once more, Paul considered for a moment. But no! he
would push on at once. He could rest at his journey's end--this was no
time to look after the comfort of his body; the cry of his soul must
first be satisfied.

And after a brief delay he found himself again _en route_.

On his travels in out-of-the-way corners of the globe, Paul had long
ago accustomed himself to discomfort--even hardship. But he shud