"You will have to take this," said the Princess, giving me a letter so that she wouldn't touch my hand, "and be sure they don't catch you with the letter. Be careful, don't drink, Alexei. It's bad to drink; when you come back we'll give you 500 rubles." "_Je né le tolère pas_," she said to the Prince, "_il a l'air si commun! Il nous vendrait tous, s'il etait assez intelligent_!" The Prince did not answer (I guess he knows more than her Highness) and looked aside, grumbling something just to calm his better half. I stared at her, just to scare this bad female, from under my eyebrows. "_Vous voyez_," the Princess almost cried, "_Vous voyez! Mon Dieu! Quel type horrible! J'ai peur de lui! C'est un dégénéré! il nous trahira_!" She complimented me in this manner for a while, and then started to give me some silly instructions,--how to get there, etc. Finally, I left the house, went to Schmelin and got his permission in a minute, and tonight--I am leaving. My house and all in it will be taken good care of,--Schmelin promised to look after it. Good-by, my humble hut! Good-by Tumen! III. TOBOLSK III. TOBOLSK 39 The Irtysh opened its dark blue streams for navigation not so long ago. From my place on the deck I see spots of old yellowish snow on the hills; near the banks--the fresh, innocent grass is already daring to appear on the surface. Peasants are doing something on the vast plains. The very, very old story of the mythical Lei! White and chaste birches, triste and flirtatious women amongst the trees, are trimming their Spring fashion dresses. However this coming back to life, of the hills, and plains, and trees, this warmth in the air--does not affect the passengers. Who in the devil will nowadays snivel about Spring and myths? All sentiment died in Russia; everything, at least, looks dead,--but the co-operative Societies: they plan a large business, meaning "trusts" when they advertise for "co-operation." With the exception of the representatives of the "Creamery Union" (who were fat and noisy),--the rest of our fellow-travelers were gloomy and sordid; I rarely could detect a smile, and if there was a hilarious expression, it was at somebody's expense, always malicious and malignant. A boy cut his little finger and squealed for "mama" like a young pig--people smiled. An old woman passed on the deck and fell so badly that tears came into her colorless eyes--smiles became bright and gay; somebody even whistled. A stowaway was caught in the baggage room--a pale faced young chap with a forlorn expression--the crew committee started to "investigate" (just undressed him on the deck)--and people became joyful and gigglish....