their way from Perm to Ekaterenburg. At the first stages, the courier
of the Czar had learnt that a carriage preceded them, but, as there
was no want of horses, he did not trouble himself about that.

During the day, halts were made for food alone.
At the post-houses could be found lodging and provision.
Besides, if there was not an inn, the house of the Russian peasant
would have been no less hospitable. In the villages, which are
almost all alike, with their white-walled, green-roofed chapels,
the traveler might knock at any door, and it would be opened to him.
The moujik would come out, smiling and extending his hand to his guest.
He would offer him bread and salt, the burning charcoal would
be put into the "samovar," and he would be made quite at home.
The family would turn out themselves rather than that he should
not have room. The stranger is the relation of all.
He is "one sent by God."

On arriving that evening Michael instinctively asked the postmaster how
many hours ago the carriage which preceded them had passed that stage.

"Two hours ago, little father," replied the postmaster.

"Is it a berlin?"

"No, a telga."

"How many travelers?"

"Two."