“He was in an Austrian regiment,” continued Werkstein, giving me some of the merry one’s history. “He deserted with his regiment to the Russians, for the Czechs did not want to serve the Germans. In reprisal, the little business he had at home was confiscated, his wife became crazy when his two children were taken away, and he does not know what became of any of them. He is waiting now to get back to that Austrian village, and he swears he will kill till he is killed when he gets there. He does not care what happens to him--he will get his revenge.” And without doubt the wag will. In about a week we arrived in Harbin, and stopped there some three days. The city appeared very dull by day, but at night the restaurants and theatres were crowded with gay throngs. I found a young officer on duty there, who had shared my stateroom on the transport, and we dined at the Hotel Moderne. The prices were extremely high, but the food excellent. The restaurant was full of Russian officers, and wealthy civilians, for Harbin is really the center of high life for the Siberians, it being in Manchuria and somewhat safer than other cities. Here gather all the intriguers of all factions, here are hatched the plots and counter plots of the monarchists and anti-monarchists, the Bolshevists and anti-Bolshevists of Siberia. The man who seeks power and wishes to draw to him his adherents, goes first to Harbin to perfect his plans, and the man who has lost power, goes there to escape the fury of the populace and lay his plans for regaining his old position. It is quite likely that among the crowd at the opera that night, there were former Grand Dukes waiting till the time is ripe for a _coup d’etat_; if the former Czar is still alive, he is probably hidden away in Harbin, and if a Romanoff ever returns to the throne, Harbin will probably harbor the heads of the plot for the restoration. Among the Russians I met there, was a nephew of Tolstoy, wearing the uniform of a lieutenant. But officers of higher rank appear to prefer civilian attire. And when introduced to them, I found that the ranks mentioned with their names, were pronounced in low tones. And it is not at all uncommon to be introduced to somebody with the name given in a conversational tone, and later to have whispered to you, the real name and title of the new acquaintance. Judging from some of the acts of the cabaret near the Moderne, Harbin is not wholly a royalist center. A singer, in the rags and chains of a Siberian convict, sang in dismal notes the story of his sufferings, and “died” on the stage. He had to respond to a dozen encores. But I suspected some of the excessive applause to come from persons who were of the old nobility, if not of imperial blood. Living incognito in Harbin, it might not be safe for a Grand Duke to hiss such an act, and in such a case, a man may save himself from assassination by bursting his white gloves in sympathy for a stage exile.