1 5 8 THRO UGH R US SI A ON A MUST A JVC 



akin to that of a man who has just been sentenced to 

 death. After no end of these " now what to do's," 

 and an hour or so of floundering about in a sort of 

 morass, we eventually struck a broad and well-defined 

 road, though the roads were now nothing more than 

 a broad swath of land across the country, preserved by 

 the government as " the Czar's highway." 



We stayed that night at a postayali-dvor, where we 

 experienced the welcome novelty of a clean white 

 table-cloth, and clean pillows to repose our heads on, 

 though we slept out of the house, Sascha in the stable, 

 I by the side of a hay-rick in the orchard. The secret 

 of the clean linen was, that the proprietor of the 

 place had married a French governess, who seemed to 

 have taken charge of the management by preference, as 

 Frenchwomen in France delight in keeping shop. 

 The contrast between her and the Russian women 

 belonging to similar establishments along our road, 

 was remarkably striking. The women were lazier and 

 even more indifferent about getting us anything to eat, 

 or putting themselves out of the way in any shape or 

 manner for our accommodation, than were the men. 

 And this churlish heedlessness of character grew to be 

 worse, and productive of more and more discomfort to 

 us, as we progressed into the heart of Malo Russia. 

 Here, we were among a people who could scarcely 

 be got to give us a civil answer in reply to our 

 questions about the road. The moujiks seemed 

 particularly morose and disinclined to show us any 

 courtesy. 



At Constantinograd, a small town, two days' ride 

 south of Kharkoff, we were getting well into Malo 



