At the appearance of the champagne, Colonel Taskin of the mining engineers made a brief speech in English, and ended by proposing the United States of America and the health of the American stranger.  Dr. Schmidt translated my response as well as my toast to the Russian empire, and especially the inhabitants of Barnaool.  The doctor was then honored for his mammoth hunt, and made proper acknowledgment.  Then we had personal toasts and more champagne with Russian and American music, and champagne again, and then we had some more champagne and then some champagne.

When the tables were removed, we had impromptu dancing to lively music, including several Cossack dances, some familiar and others new to me.  There is one of these dances which usually commences by a woman stepping into the centre of the room and holding a kerchief in her right hand.  Moving gracefully to the music, she passes around the apartment, beckoning to one, hiding her face from another, gesticulating with extended arms before a third, and skilfully manipulating the kerchief all the while.  When this sentimental pantomime is ended, she selects a partner and waves the kerchief over him.  He pretends reluctance, but allows himself to be dragged to the floor where the couple dance en deux.  The dance includes a great deal of entreaty, aversion, hope, and despair, all in dumb show, and ends by the lady being led to a seat.  I saw this dance introduced in a ballet at the Grand Theatre in Moscow, and wondered why it never appeared on the stage outside the Russian empire.

One of the gentlemen who danced admirably had recovered the use of his legs two years before, after being unable to walk no less than twenty-eight years.  He declared himself determined to make up for lost time, and when I left the hall, he continued entertaining himself.

During the dancing, a party gathered around where I stood and I observed that every lady was assembling as if to witness some fun.  “Be on your watch,” a friend whispered, “they are going to give you the polkedovate.”

The polkedovate is nothing more nor less than a tossing up at the hands of a dozen or twenty Russians.  It has the effect of intoxicating a sober man, but I never heard that it sobered a drunken one.  Major Collins was elevated in this way at Kiachta, and declares that the effect, added to the champagne he had previously taken, was not at all satisfactory.  Remembering his experience, and fearing I might go too high or come too low, I was glad when a diversion was made in my favor by a gentleman coming to bid me good night.

[Illustration:  THE POLKEDOVATE.]

The custom of tossing up a guest is less prevalent in Siberia than ten or twenty years ago.  It was formerly a mark of high respect, but I presume few who were thus honored would have hesitated to forego the distinguished courtesy.