"Why not? It doesn't seem to be at all different from the diet of other Europeans. Here is roast beef, and there are veal cutlets. The bread, you perceive, is most excellent," replied Dr. Winstock. "Indeed, I think the whitest and best bread in Europe is to be had in Russia." "But I had an idea that the Russians ate strange messes," added Scott. "There are peculiarly Russian dishes, but you do not find them to any great extent in the restaurants on the railroads. _Kvas_ is a beverage of fermented rye. From this they make an iced soup, into which they put meat, chopped herring, and cucumbers." "Whew!" whistled Scott, as the party seated themselves at the table. "They have cabbage soups and fish soups, which we should call chowder. The finest fish in Russia is the sterlet, which is very expensive. The poor people live on buckwheat and other coarse grains, and among them the common dish is cabbage soup thickened with buckwheat or barley meal, with meat or fish when it can be afforded, which is not often among the poorest." "I shouldn't like that kind of grub." "Probably not; but you need not starve while you can get roast beef as good as this, though it is a little tough." "No, sir; but I should starve on another article I see here; that is, _caviar_--the abominable fish spawn. I tried it in Sweden, and didn't get the taste of it out of my mouth for three weeks." "Yet it is esteemed a great delicacy in this country, and many foreigners so regard it." "Their mouths and stomachs must be lined with cast-iron," laughed Scott. The party returned to the train, and the journey was continued. The country was still level, with hardly anything like a hill to be seen. Much of it was covered with pine and birch wood. A village of shanties was occasionally passed, and around it were fields of grain, but there were no fences. The view from the windows of the cars was ever the same, and the travellers were soon weary of it. Scott wandered through the carriage to see the passengers, for a few Russians had taken places in it. He made a study of the conductor, who was certainly a fine-looking fellow. He wore a Cossack cap, a short frock coat with a belt, and large trousers stuffed into the top of his boots. At dark, which was late in the evening in this high latitude, nearly ten, the students tried to go to sleep, and most of them succeeded. At five o'clock in the morning, nearly all of them were awake when the train stopped at Tver, which is the head of steamboat navigation on the Volga. Those who had their eyes open went into the station for a cup of coffee and a roll. "Now's our time," said De Forrest, in a low tone, as he finished his coffee, and paid for it. "What do you mean?" asked Beckwith, as he followed the purser to the rear of the station, where no one observed them. "Have you pluck enough to go with me?" replied De Forrest. "Go where?" "Down the Volga." "Run away?" "Yes." "I don't know about that. It is played out."