"There are towns on the road, sire. When I reach a town I will work till I have enough to continue my journey to the next."
"That may do as far as Perm," replied the Emperor; "but after that you have the Ural mountains, and you are at the end of Europe. After that nothing but a few scattered villages; no inns upon the road; large rivers without bridges or ferries, and which must be traversed by dangerous fords, whence men and horses are frequently swept away."
"Sire, when I reach the rivers they will be frozen; for I am told that in those regions the winter begins earlier than at St Petersburg."
"What!" cried the Emperor, astonished, "do you think of setting out now—of performing such a journey in winter?"
"It is during the winter that his solitude must be most intolerable."
"It is impossible. You must be mad to think of it."
"Impossible if your Majesty so wills it. No one can disobey your Majesty."
"I shall not prevent it; but surely your own reason, and the immense difficulties of such an undertaking, will."
"Sire! I will set out to-morrow."
"But if you perish on the road?"