ait awhile, here is Tiflis before my eyes; walls of the
citadels, belfries of the temples belonging to the different religions,
a metropolitan church with its double cross, houses of Russian,
Persian, or Armenian construction; a few roofs, but many terraces; a
few ornamental frontages, but many balconies and verandas; then two
well-marked zones, the lower zone remaining Georgian, the higher zone,
more modern, traversed by a long boulevard planted with fine trees,
among which is seen the palace of Prince Bariatinsky, a capricious,
unexpected marvel of irregularity, which the horizon borders with its
grand frontier of mountains.

It is now five o'clock. I have no time to deliver myself in a
remunerative torrent of descriptive phrases. Let us hurry off to the
railway station.

There is a crowd of Armenians, Georgians, Mingrelians, Tartars, Kurds,
Israelites, Russians, from the shores of the Caspian, some taking their
tickets--Oh! the Oriental color--direct for Baku, some for intermediate
stations.

This time I was completely in order. Neither the clerk with the
gendarme's face, nor the gendarmes themselves could hinder my departure.

I take a ticket for Baku, first class. I go down on the platform to the
carriages. According to my custom, I install myself in a comfortable
corner. A few travelers follow me while the cosmopolitan populace
invade the second and third-class carriages. The doors are shut after
the visit of the ticket inspector. A last scream of the whistle
announces that the train is about to start.

Suddenly there is a shout--a shout in which anger is mingled with
despair, and I catch these words in German:

"Stop! Stop!"

I put down the window and look out.

A fat man, bag in hand, traveling cap on head, his legs embarrassed in
the skirts of a huge overcoat, short and breathless. He is late.

The porters try to stop him. Try to stop a bomb in the middle of its
trajectory! Once again has right to give place to might.

The Teuton bomb describes a well-calculated curve, and has just fallen
into the compartment next to ours, through the door a traveler had
obligingly left open.

The train begins to move at the same instant, the engine wheels begin
to slip on the rails, then the speed increases.

We are off.

CHAPTER II.

We were three minutes late in starting; it is well to be precise. A
special correspondent who is not precise is a geometer who neglects to
run out his calculations to t