CHAPTER IV. 



THE START FROM MOSCOW. 



IT was a warm, moist morning in the middle of June, 

 when Sascha, the young student of Moscow, and 

 the writer rode out of Moscow. The eminently re- 

 spectable section of old Moscow's conservative citi- 

 zens, the representatives of her wealth and beauty as 

 well as of her mercantile pre-eminence, were still asleep. 

 At the doors of the big mansions, and the fashionable 

 apartment-houses, the dvorniks, curled up in their huge 

 overcoats, were imitating the admirable example of the 

 inmates. 



A few of these watchmen, who had proved their fit- 

 ness for their position by sleeping, through the night, 

 the untroubled sleep of the righteous, craned their 

 necks above the all-enveloping sheepskins, at the 

 sound of our horses' feet, as a setting hen peers over 

 the edge of her nest when apprehensive of intruders. 

 And having satisfied their curiosity by a sleepy scru- 

 tiny of my American cow-boy saddle, drew their heads 

 down again, once more in unreflective imitation of the 

 hen. 



We rode along a narrow street in the old Moscovite 

 quarter, where the houses were painted in many bright 

 colors and ornamented with woodwork, curiously 

 carved. Balconies, where, a few hours earlier, the 



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