She was evidently tired out, for through the long night she slept soundly, now and then murmuring low words that I could not catch. Her beauty had enchanted me; the mystery surrounding her added to the intense interest I felt in her. Even when, cramped by remaining in the same position so as to allow her head to rest comfortably, my arm stole gently around her waist and drew her towards me, she did not wake. Indeed, she remained oblivious to her surroundings until, just as the wintry dawn was spreading, Ivan, our driver, pulled up at the post-house of the little village of Rytsaieva, having accomplished our first stage. Then, on opening her eyes and finding herself in my embrace, she blushed deeply, apologised for being such an uninteresting companion, and, shivering, alighted and entered the small log-built house. During that day and the following night we remained at the post-house. Then each day passed much as its predecessor. While the light lasted we sped onward, putting up each night at the wretchedly dirty post-houses, at last crossing the frontier at Zverinogolovsk and entering that dreaded prison-land, Siberia. Gaining the Great Post-Road, we continued upon it day after day, week after week, over the barren snow-covered country through Ishim, Omsk, and Kolivan, until we reached Tomsk, one thousand miles from our starting-point. Mariána was an enigma, and, even before we had been companions a week, I found myself admiring her. Yet the mystery surrounding her was most tantalising. Though apparently a provincial, she spoke of people in the highest circle in Petersburg in a manner which showed them to be intimate friends, for many of the people about whom she gossiped so pleasantly were my own acquaintances. At times I was inclined to regard her as a pure-minded girl whose safety had been entrusted to me by Paul; yet, when I remembered that his life had been one of joys without sorrow and loves without a morrow, I felt more inclined to suspect her to be a handsome adventuress. Time after time we passed convicts dragging their leg-irons onward; men and women with hope left far beyond the Ourals, and with looks of unutterable despair upon their care-lined brows, were trudging wearily through the snow with footsteps hastened by the terrible knout wielded by fierce, brutal Cossacks. Mariána, as she gazed with pitying looks at the miserable, smileless bands, would sigh heavily and lapse into deep thought. Once only when, just as we were passing, a Cossack’s whip fell heavily upon the shoulders of a young woman who seemed very weak and ill, the sight moved her to angrily declare that the Russian penal code was a blot on the progress of modern civilisation. “Such thoughts are best left unuttered here, Mademoiselle,” I said. “To recklessly criticise his Majesty’s actions is a serious matter.”