of seats and an
aisle down the center, like our trains in America,--only there was an
upper story of seats, too. I stretched out and went to sleep. When I
woke the carriage was filled. Marie and I occupied one seat together.

Opposite us sat a fat, red-nosed man, with a fur cap, though it was
summer. Between his legs was a huge, bulky bag. When the train stopped,
he put a pinch of tea in his little blue enameled teapot, which he
filled at the hot-water tank that is at every Russian station just for
that purpose. He pulled out of his bag numberless newspaper packages and
spread them out on the newspaper across his knees--big fat sausages and
thin fried ones, a chunk of ham, a boiled chicken, dried pressed meat, a
lump of melting butter, some huge cucumber pickles, and cheese. With a
murderous-looking knife he cut thick slices from a big round loaf of
bread that he held against his breast. He sweetened his tea with some
sugar from another package, and sliced a lemon into it. When he had
finished eating, he carefully rolled up the food again and put it away,
and settled back in his chair. With great deliberation he took out of
his vest pocket a little black box with bright flowers painted on the
lid. He fingered it lovingly for a moment, then he took a pinch of
snuff, closing his eyes in ecstasy and inhaling deeply. He did this
three times and blew his nose vigorously. Then he put the box away,
brushing off the gray grains of powder that had fallen down his vest
front. All day long, every time the train stopped, he refilled his
little blue enameled teapot and repeated the ceremony, even to the last
grain of snuff.

Across the aisle sat two priests, unshaven and unshorn, in wide black
hats, their long, greasy black hair falling over the shoulders of their
dirty gray gowns. They spent the day in prayer and eating and drinking.
They were evidently bound for Kiev on a holy pilgrimage to the Lavra.

In the seat above the old man who took snuff lay a young woman, propped
on her elbow. Every time I looked at her she was laughing, pressing a
pomegranate seed between her lips. Her hands were very thin and white.
Her face was long and thin and framed by short, clipped hair. Every now
and then a young officer came up to her and took her hand, and asked if
she wanted anything. She answered him indifferently, but when he went
back to his seat, her eyes followed him and rested on him with the long,
narrow look of a watchful cat.

A