When I received my passport marked with the mystic word, my embarrassment was painful. I walked up and down the waiting room, showing the word to every one I met. They all looked at me with astonishment, and kept clear of me without offering any explanation. I, at last, heard some one speaking French near me; it was a gentleman whose moustaches of immoderate length and dark whiskers white at the tips, something like the fur of the blue fox, indicated him to be of Northern nationality. I hastened to be enlightened, and at once learnt that this important word was the name of the officer appointed to examine my baggage. After some difficulty, I found the functionary, who, fortunately, spoke French. “Monsieur,” he said, “qu’avez-vous à déclarer?” “Rien,” I promptly replied, with all the freedom of innocence; “what I bring with me is for my personal use, and if some of the packages appear to you very bulky, it is because I am on a very long, a very distant journey.” “Be good enough to open them.” I accordingly began, feeling assured that everything would go on well and soon end. “It is my personal clothing,” I explained; “there is nothing but clothes in this trunk. Here is a pair of trousers that seems new; I have had it these three years. It looks, however, new; that is to my credit; you see, I do not wear out my clothes much,” I remarked merrily. “But,” he rejoined, “it seems too new; we will weigh it; this will be paid for.” My mortification was about to begin. He commenced putting into the scales all the clothing which he considered had not been worn. “What are these?” “They are memorandum books.” “Is there anything written in them?” “Nothing yet,” and then they also go into the scales. But he was not disposed to end there; far from it; I was obliged to open the chest I had got packed in Paris with the greatest care, containing my sporting equipment and many things for use only in Siberia. Perceiving that he was inexorable in his determination to turn out everything, I entreated him to put the case, just as it was, into the scales, preferring to pay more to having the contents turned upside down in the greatest disorder after they had been so artistically arranged. But I was much deceived, for this gentleman was too much of a Cossack to forego the pleasure of examining Parisian objects. Everything was turned out, and, if possible, inside out, and put into the scales. I was enraged.