November 15th.—In the middle of the night the stopping of the screw woke me. The white cliffs of France had come to sight at last. I heaved a sign of relief when the Océanien dropped anchor at Marseilles, and only thought of a comfortable bed and a good fire. It was a day of “mistral,” and whilst we drove to the Hôtel de Noailles, I had to protect myself with my umbrella against the terrible gusts of wind which played havoc with my hat and hair.
November 16th.—I have enjoyed my first night on terra-firma, snug and warm in my soft, immovable bed, and forgot all the miseries we have passed through during our long voyage. The sky is slate-coloured, a cold wind blows in the street; nevertheless I decided to go to Monte-Carlo with the Serebriakoffs and Mr. Shaniawski. Sergy had to remain at Marseilles in order to confer with some French officials about the traffic carried on between Marseilles and Oriental Siberia. I sent traffic to the deuce.