IV. FROM SOFIA
The last night at Constantinople was memorable, and it is strange to contrast the brilliance, the clamour, the poignancy, of that time with the quiet gloom and dirt of Sofia. Dinner with two young Russians at the "Kievsky Ugolok"; vodka was taken as if it were part of a rite. We were served by a beautiful woman with little hands. All the lights were shaded and the violins crooned.
"The best of my youth gone in senseless fighting," said Count Tolstoy. "Twenty-two to twenty-eight, think of it; surely the best years of life, and campaigning all the while, from Insterburg to Sevastopol, and who knows what more."
"I am going to cut it all and start afresh," said Col. S. "I don't believe in the cause. If I could get a little farm in Canada or California!"
"Well, you are married and have children, that makes the difference. You are bound to them. But honour binds me to Russia—whatever happens."
"It's a strange time."
"Yes, strange."
"Who knows what will happen next in Europe!"
"Do you think European civilization will fall?"
"I think it possible that it may."