Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1936-11-06

were not mistaken, and the person you
recognized in the album is really the
one you saw, it is in Russia that we
will find her"
Hibeau lowered his head
ct would have been better if the
trail had been in the Cape Colony or
the Transvaal. How can you run them
down in an immense country like
Russia? ?"
Sir Herbert sighed. He was pale
and trembling. The artist could not
recognize the normally calm and
phlegmatic Englishman.
II have this hope" he murmured,
~ must have this hope. Since you
have accompanied me, don't discour-
age me. must succeed or-die. A
person such as my brother is not cas-
lily hidden and she, the young woman,
is not an ordinary girl. She is of a
race noble by nature and by ancient
title"
"Then it is indeed shell" cried the ar
fist. $50 proud, so beautiful. She
must be a noble woman of the old
Czarist court"
Sir Herbert looked anXiously to
right and left, then leaned forward
and whispered in the young mans
ear:
eff she lives, her fate is in your
hands as much as mine. She is, or
was, the Grand Duchess Tatiana Nico-
laievna"
Due to the nearness of the pole,
summer nights in Russia are short.
At eight in the evening, the setting
sun in burst of dazzling gold gleam-
ed on the twelve cupolas and the
multicolored walls of Ivan the Ter
rible's Cathedral, st. Wassili-and on
the Kremlin, grim fortress of a thous-
and and one nights.
On the Krasnaia-the Red Squade-
a mob forms long line every evening
from the church to a plank hut thru
which they file under the gaze of arm
ed guards. A devoted, silent horde,
seeming to be assembled for service
to Death.
Soldiers in great numbers, but also
curious strangers and people of the
lower classes-laborers moujiks, ill
dressed women. But are they really
peasants? The revolution has stan
dardized the dress of the people
white or gray blouse, cap, brooches,
and boots. Every revolution had its
uniform; France had its striped trous-
ers and Phrygian helmet.
This board shack is sort of chapel.
People enter, uncover their heads,
crowd together in the red light from
the ikons. In the center is a glass
covered altar, before which the older
people bend the knee, and, from habit,
make the sign of the cross. The re-
ligion of the masses can be deviated,
but not conquered.
Resisting the push Of the crowd, a
young man with sketch book in hand
was rapidly drawing the outline of
what lay within the glass casket. The
passing horde looked over his shoulder
and then went on respectfully. To
draw what the casket contained was
another sign of piety and respect.
They whispered in awed tones-Lenin!
"Ah! l recognize him now" came
a voice in French. Its Robespierre"
'Kolossal!" doomed another voice
from the depths of its diaphragm.
'Lenin does resemble Robespierre."
The man who had first spoken, a
small, oliye-compleXioned, mustached
individual, took the exclamation as an
overture for friendiness and turned
around. He saw a massive, clean
shaven fellow.
The little man wiped the beginning
Of smile from his face and asked
rather insoleltly.
You're Prussian?"
''Niennese," replied the other calm
ly.
Il like that better, anyway if
Paris is a small edition of Marseilles,
Vienna is another Paris. Allow me
TO introduce myself-Lazare Puycas-
sou, correspondent for the Republique
du Midi"