t is
about. A man in smoked glasses comes every evening and sits--near the
apparatus. Sometimes he only listens in; sometimes he gets his "tune"
and talks. In the latter case, Lucie goes down town and leaves me at
home. I think she mails the communications or maybe someone waits for
her in the post office, or, what is possible....

(_few lines scratched out_)

... Her Russian is not at all good, she hardly speaks it in fact, but
she gets along as Lucie de Clive, a French demoiselle. With her,
as far as I can see are the following elements: 1st, the British
officer,--Stanley, or whatever his name really is; 2d, the silent
Russian, with wiry Siberian hat and extremely profane language (I
think he swears when praying): 3d, two Letts as she calls them, though
there is just as much Lettish in them as in you, or me,--they both
speak Russian like Russians; 4th, myself. About the last point I can
tell, that lately I am in the traffic business. Lucie asks me very
often to take loads to the outskirts of Tumen, near the Freight Depot,
which we receive with the Siberian pony, and I take it in my sledge
behind the Depot, where I deliver the goods--only in the evenings--to
the Letts. Sometimes we speak, but never much.

Usually, "Very cold," or "How snowy," or "Have you a cigarette?" After
delivering the goods--altogether I have done it about five times, I
return home. The Letts wait to move until I go away; I did not succeed
in trailing them--and honestly would not want to very much. I have my
private reasons for not getting into Lucie's way. Besides, why should
I? I am sure that we all are working for the same purpose, but perhaps
from different standpoints. On the other hand, it astonishes me
exceedingly, that Lucie....

(_two lines scratched out_)

and he arranged for my protection and undisturbed life here,--so
seemingly everything is in perfect accordance. You never answer my
letters, but couldn't you manage to acknowledge them? Please do it.

Yours,

Alex. Syv."

35

"I have been here so long!... Isn't it funny, Alex, how the time has
passed?"

The night was a windy one as though Winter knew it was its last chance
to freeze people to death before Spring would come; the long night
seemed slow in coming. All day we had worked very hard in the barn
preparing a big load which Lucie had asked me to take to the
Letts. After dinner, we had kippered herring and some meat stew a
l'Irlandaise, we were sitting near