This fellow looked just the figure for high
romantic pictures. He had, doubtless, seen Russia in the colours of
the pleasant superficial books of travel that have of late, in
England, been so popular, books that see in the Russian a blessed sort
of Idiot unable to read or write but vitally conscious of God, and in
Russia a land of snow, ikons, mushrooms and pilgrims. Yes, he would be
disappointed, unhappy, and tiresome. Upon myself would fall the chief
burden of his trouble--I should have enough upon my shoulders without
him.
The golden fan had vanished from the station walls. A dim pale glow,
with sparkles as of gold dust shining here and there upon that grimy
world, faltered and trembled before the rattle and roar that
threatened it. Nevertheless, Spring was with us at our departure. As
the bells rang, as the ladies of our Committee screamed and laughed,
as Anna Mihailovna showered directions and advice upon us, as we
crowded backwards into our compartment before the first jolt of the
departing train, Spring was with us .
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