I went to the railway station at a run, and rushed into the departure
office.
"When is there a train for Baku?" I asked.
"You are going to Baku?" answered the clerk.
And from his trap-door he gave me one of those looks more military than
civil, which are invariably found under the peak of a Muscovite cap.
"I think so," said I, perhaps a little sharply, "that is, if it is not
forbidden to go to Baku."
"No," he replied, dryly, "that is, if you are provided with a proper
passport."
"I will have a proper passport," I replied to this ferocious
functionary, who, like all the others in Holy Russia, seemed to me an
intensified gendarme.
Then I again asked what time the train left for Baku.
"Six o'clock to-night."
"And when does it get there?"
"Seven o'clock in the morning."
"Is that in time to catch the boat for Uzun Ada?"
"In time."
And the man at the trap-door replied to my salute by a salute of
mechanical precision.
The question of passport did not trouble me. The French consul would
know how to give me all the references required by the Russian
administration.
Six o'clock to-night, and it is already nine o'clock in the morning!
Bah! When certain guide books tell you how to explore Paris in two
days, Rome in three days, and London in four days, it would be rather
curious if I could not do Tiflis in a half day.
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