remembered what Boulangier, the engineer, had said about it in the
course of that interesting journey he had made to Merv. All that I saw
on the left as I went out of the station, was the gloomy outline of the
Turkoman Fort, dominating the new town, the population of which has
doubled since 1887. It forms a confused mass behind a thick curtain of
trees.

When I returned at half-past three, Popof was going through the luggage
van, I know not why. What must be the Roumanian's anxiety during this
movement to and fro in front of his box!

As soon as Popof reappeared I said to him: "Anything fresh?"

"Nothing, except the morning breeze!" said he.

"Very fresh!" said I. "Is there a refreshment bar in the station?"

"There is one for the convenience of the passengers."

"And for the convenience of the guards, I suppose? Come along, Popof."

And Popof did not want asking twice.

The bar was open, but there did not seem to be much to choose from. The
only liquor was "Koumiss," which is fermented mare's milk, and is the
color of faded ink, very nourishing, although very liquid. You must be
a Tartar to appreciate this koumiss. At least that is the effect it
produced on me. But Popof thought it excellent, and that was the
important point.