Alexandropol is surrounded by high mountains; one of the summits named “Alagöse” is always covered with snow. The town with its low houses and flat roofs, uniformly built of grey stone, reminds one of Pompeii. The costume of the native women is as gloomy as everything else in this town. Enveloped in a yashmak, a piece of white muslin leaving only the eyes exposed, they looked exactly like ghosts. We lived in a very unpretending style. General Loris-Melikoff, who tried his best to cheer our Russian colony, pursued me with invitations, which I generally managed to evade. One of our favourite diversions was to visit the citadel, a miniature fortified town, situated at about a mile’s distance from Alexandropol. General Kobsieff, the commander of the citadel, was awfully nice to me; he lent me books and sent me flowers. One of our most frequent guests, General S⸺ was so old that I was afraid all the time he’d go to pieces. He showed a distinct preference for my society and looked at me as if I were something good to eat. This old general gave me to understand that I had captured his venerable heart and that he was deeply enamoured with me, which sounded somewhat ridiculous from that aged warrior, and though he was far too ancient for my taste, I let him make love to me, for what harm could come of it? My old admirer was dying to show me the renewal of his vigour, lost in the night of time; an occasion soon presented itself. One rainy day I went out for a walk accompanied by two cavaliers, my out-of-date adorer and a sprightly young officer. Whilst I held my nose up in the air looking at the state of the sky, a gust of wind tore away my umbrella and the old warrior, trying to get it before the young one, ran as fast as his old legs could carry him towards the rolling parasol, and brought it back triumphantly to me, like a perfect knight. Gallant old creature! A score of “djigites” belonging to General Loris-Melikoff’s escort, consisting of different Asiatic tribes, gave circus performances on the square, where a military band played every afternoon on the roof-platform of the house opposite our abode. Below, a band of Armenian street urchins went through all sorts of military evolutions, under the command of a little chief, decorated with Russian paper-stars and crosses.