the Russians in
enduring cold; and there is a marvelous story told about a Romany who,
for a wager, undertook to sleep naked against a clothed Muscovite on the
ice of a river during an unusually cold night. In the morning the
Russian was found frozen stiff, while the gypsy was snoring away
unharmed. As we returned, I saw in the town something which recalled
this story in more than one _moujik_, who, well wrapped up, lay sleeping
in the open air, under the lee of a house. Passing through silent Moscow
on the early Christmas morn, under the stars, as I gazed at the marvelous
city, which yields neither to Edinburgh, Cairo, nor Prague in
picturesqueness, and thought over the strange evening I had spent among
the gypsies, I felt as if I were in a melodrama with striking scenery.
The pleasing _finale_ was the utter amazement and almost speechless
gratitude of Vassili at getting an extra half-ruble as an early Christmas
gift.

As I had received a pressing invitation from the gypsies to come again, I
resolved to pay them a visit on Christmas afternoon in their own house,
if I could find it. Having ascertained that the gypsy street was in a
distant quarter, called the _Grouszini_, I engaged a sleigh, standing
before the door of the Slavanski-Bazaar Hotel, and the usual close
bargain with the driver was effected with the aid of a Russian gentleman,
a stranger passing by, who reduced the ruble (one hundred kopecks) at
first demanded to seventy kopecks. After a very long drive we found
ourselves in the gypsy street, and the _istvostshik_ asked me, "To what
house?"

"I don't know," I replied. "Gypsies live here, don't they?"

"Gypsies, and no others."

"Well, I want to find a gypsy."

The driver laughed, and just at that instant I saw, as if awaiting me on
the sidewalk, Sarsha, Liubasha, and another young lady, with a
good-looking youth, their brother.

"This will do," I said to the driver, who appeared utterly amazed at
seeing me greeted like an old friend by the Zigani, but who grinned with
delight, as all Russians of the lower class invariably do at anything
like sociability and fraternity. The damsels were faultlessly attired in
Russian style, with full fur-lined, glossy black-satin cloaks and fine
Orenberg scarfs, which are, I believe, the finest woolen fabrics in the
world. The party were particularly anxious to know if I had come
specially to visit _them_, for I have passed over the fact that I had
also made