Tobolsk! Pretty town--I must admit. The high bank with green slopes is covered with churches, white buildings and gleaming gold crosses. Something tranquil about Tobolsk! Blue, red and green roofs look shy from their cozy nests of trees. It must be very exciting to live here when all is normal. Good God! I see from the deck the fine foggish veil of dust and gossips hanging over the town. They must still play "préférence" here, or "vint." In these little "centers" bridge must be unknown. I took a room in a hotel and went to the Kornilov house. It was about four. I heard the noise of forks and knives, dinner time is so impossibly early in these longitudes. A man answered my ring and said I should wait outside and never ring the front door bell. He explained where the kitchen entrance was. The man, even in explaining these disagreeable things, was polite: by profession, for I immediately saw he was a former Chamber-lackey, though he had a moustache and was looking meager. "Wait on the street, service-man," he said, "I cannot let you in." Very well,--I know these "waits" and "call later ons." They don't hurt me. I crossed the street and went down the slope. There is a post office on the corner,--and a soldier near it,--a regular Lett: white eyebrows, red face and the meanest steel blue microscopic eyes deeply placed under a low forehead. He looked at me and impendingly changed the rifle from one shoulder to the other. I turned upwards and continued all along this "great Liberty Street." I did not want to pass near the Mansion. I turned on the Tuliatskaya, passed two blocks and explored where the Budishchevs were. Again a Lett, again no eyebrows over the same piggish eyes. And again a Lett. Gracious! One more in here--and the whole Letvia must be in Tobolsk! When I knew the city well enough I turned back to Kornilov's. The same chamber-lackey opened the rear door almost killing me with the smell of cabbage. "Dr. Botkin is not in," he said, when I explained what I wanted, "Sit down, service-man. Take it"--he gave me a cigarette with a gold crescent on it--the kind they served at the Palace. I looked at the crescent and then at the man. In one glance he got I was not "service-man," but he did not show his discovery,--only got up and continued talking. "The doctor is very busy right now. He was asked across the street twice today. Have you come from Russia? Demobilized?" "Yes, quite demobilized," I answered. "I must see Mr. Botkin right now, so won't you please tell him about me as soon as he returns. Don't worry about the kitchen--I cannot stay here: I'd rather sit outside."