We paid our heavy bills and left Petrograd on Monday, the 29th November.  Great fuss at the station, as our luggage and the guide had disappeared together.  A comfortable, slow journey, and Colonel Malcolm met us at Moscow station and took us to the Hotel de Luxe—­a shocking bad pub, but the only one where we could get rooms.  We went out to lunch, and I had a plate of soup, two faens (little wheat cakes), and the fifth part of a bottle of Graves.  This modest repast cost sixteen shillings per head.  We turned out of the Luxe Hotel the following day, and came to the National, where four hundred people were waiting to get in.  But our guide Grundy had influence, and managed to get us rooms.  It is quite comfortable.

None of us was sorry to leave Petrograd, and that is putting the case mildly.  People there are very depressed, and it was a case of “she said” and “he said” all the time.  Everyone was trying to snuff everyone else out.  “I don’t know them”—­and the lips pursed up finished many a reputation, and I heard more about money and position than I ever heard in my life before.  “Bunty” and I used to say that the world was inhabited by “nice people and very nice people,” and once she added a third class, “fearfully nice people.”  That is a world one used to inhabit.  I suppose one must make the best of this one!

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Moscow. 2 December.—­Hilda Wynne was rather feverish to-day, and lay in bed, so I had a solitary walk about the Kremlin, and saw a fine view from its splendid position.  But, somehow, I am getting tired of solitude.  I suppose the war gives us the feeling that we must hold together, and yet I have never been more alone than during this last eighteen months.

* * * * *

To Miss Macnaughtan’s Sisters.

CREDIT LYONNAIS, MOSCOW,
3 December.

MY DEARS,

I have just heard that there is a man going up to Petrograd to-night who will put our letters in the Embassy bag, so there is some hope of this reaching you.  It is really my Christmas letter to you all, so may it be passed round, please, although there won’t be much in it.

We are now at Moscow, en route for the Caucasus via Tiflis, and our base will probably be Julfa.  We have been chosen to go there by the Grand Duchess Cyril, but the reports about the roads are so conflicting that we are going to see for ourselves.  When we get there it will be difficult to send letters home, but the banks will always be in communication with each other, so I shall get all you send to Credit Lyonnais, Petrograd.

So far we have been waiting for our cars all this time.  They had to come by Archangel, and they left long before we did, but they have not arrived yet.  There are six ambulance cars, on board three different ships (for safety), and no news of any of them yet.

Now, at least, we have got a move on, and, barring accidents, we shall be in Tiflis next week.  It’s rather a fearsome journey, as the train only takes us to the foot of the mountains in four days, and then we must ride or drive across the passes, which they say are too cold for anything.  You must imagine us like Napoleon in the “Retreat from Moscow” picture.