I dined that night with the Russian Railway Staff Officer in his quarters in the station. They consisted of two or three large and comfortable rooms. The furniture, which had been supplied to him by his Government, was almost luxurious, in marked contrast with the indifferent tables and the camp chairs with which Lieutenant Kell had to provide himself. All through the combined occupation the Continental Powers endeavoured to enable their officers to present a good appearance among the other nationalities. The Germans were especially generous in the pay and allowances they gave to the commissioned ranks of their expeditionary force. The guests that evening comprised, besides Kell and myself, three Russian officers, one of whom spoke English, one French, while the third could converse only in his own language, so the conversation was of a polyglot character. The dinner began by the preliminary _sakouski_—that is the nearest approach I can make to its name—a regular little meal in itself of _hors d’œuvres_. Caviare, sturgeon’s roe, very salt ham, brawn, and a dozen other comestibles were served. My host asked me if I had ever tasted vodki, and although I assured him that I had, proceeded to make me try five differently flavoured varieties of the national liquor. With the regular dinner the nauseatingly sweet champagne, so much in favour with Continental peoples, was served. On my declaring that champagne was a wine I never drank, I was allowed to have a decanter of whisky and a syphon of soda‐water and permitted to help myself. Kell adhered faithfully to claret and soda throughout the evening; but our Russian comrades indiscriminately mixed champagne, beer, and red or white wines, with the result that they soon became exceedingly merry. We were served by Chinese and a Russian soldier, whose manner of waiting at table was perfection. The best‐trained London butler could not have moved with more noiseless tread, or decanted the wine more carefully.