soldiers, policemen, Prussian and Russian, who form a gauntlet all
travelers must run. Here passports must be shown, trunks opened. Getting
in or out of Russia is not a simple business, even in the twentieth
century. All sorts of people can't come in while a good many who try to
get out are turned back, and may have to make a long journey to Siberia
if they cannot account for themselves properly.

This train had stopped in the dead of night. But, dark and late as it
was, there was the usual bustle and stir. Everyone had to wake up and
submit to the questioning of police and customs men. About the only
people who can escape such inquisition at Virballen or any other Russian
border station are royalties and ambassadors. Most of the passengers,
however, didn't have to come out on the platform. In this case, indeed,
only two descended. One of these was treated by the police officials
with marked respect. He was the sort of man to inspire both respect and
fear. Very tall, he was heavily bearded, but not so heavily as to
prevent the flashing of his teeth in a grim and unpleasant smile. Nor
were his eyes hidden as the rays of the station lights fell upon them.

He was called "Excellency" by the policemen who spoke to him, but he
ignored these men, save for a short, quick nod with which he
acknowledged their respectful greetings. His whole attention was devoted
to the boy by his side, who was looking up at him defiantly. This boy
won a tribute of curious looks from all who saw him, and some glances
of admiration when it became increasingly plain that he did not share
the universal feeling of awe for the man by his side. This was accounted
for, partly at least, it might be supposed, by the fact that he wasn't a
Russian. The Americans in the train, had they been out on the platform,
would have recognized him at once for he was sturdily and obviously
American.