The political exiles in the town of Berezov had prepared a telegram to the Duma setting forth their plight. This telegram was to have been carried from Berezov to the nearest telegraph line--one thousand versts away--by the very messenger who brought the news of the dissolution. A copy of the telegram was preserved, however, and given to me. The text proved incontrovertibly that exile to a Siberian village at the government allowance is equivalent to banishment to starvation. To live upon the government grant would mean subsisting each day on one twelfth of a pound of meat (local meat, deer, or bear, etc.), one half pound of bread, one half of one piece of sugar, and eight potatoes. There would then be left eleven cents a month for lodging, and six cents a month for all exigencies, and such luxuries as candles, matches, and clothing. As a matter of fact it is difficult to find a room in any kind of a house for less than one dollar a month, unless one sleeps with native Ostiaks, and the great crime of Siberia is that political exiles are obliged to do this, even when the Ostiaks are foul with disease. When I had asked as many questions as I cared to, the conversation shifted to world interests, and we might have been a group in any London or New York club. How the sane men who make up a government can persuade themselves that it is the policy of wisdom to banish educated, intelligent men like those whom I met in Tobolsk is past finding out. It would seem that in Russia’s time of great need that these were the very ones who were most needed in active effort of reconstruction. It was far into the night when we separated, and then it was with mutual reluctance that we said good-night. To me, the evening had been one of intensest interest and most genuine inspiration. And they, too, had appreciated the breath from west of the Urals. My companion and I walked home with our friend, the girl who had brought together this little gathering for us. She talked vivaciously of the “work” in Siberia, and I wondered more than ever about her. When she stopped at her own front door, it proved to be before one of the few big houses in the town. This again increased my curiosity concerning her. “Oh, she is probably a school-teacher,” suggested my interpreter. “But school-teachers in Siberia are not apt to wear Paris-made gowns and live in one of the grandest houses in town,” I answered. The next day I asked our physician about her, and he replied: “She is the daughter of one of the governor’s staff. She was educated abroad. Most of her family live abroad. She chooses to accompany her father here because of the opportunities she has for service in the [Illustration: Sozonoff--a typical Siberian exile of the intellectual class] [Illustration: Head of a convoy of prisoners on the great Siberian _Trakt_] movement. Her father is in the interior now, so she has unusual liberties.” I really might have guessed that her situation was something of this nature.