white eau-de-vie and yellow pivo, and strikes the blood and makes one a beast vigorous and joyful and fatalistic, and mocks at the Nihilists and, as well, at the ten thousand eyes of the police staring from under the porches of houses, from under the skulls of dvornicks — all police, the dvornicks; all police, also the joyous concierges with extended hands.  Ah, ah, one mocks at it all in such air, provided one has roubles in one’s pockets, plenty of roubles, and that one is not besotted by reading those extraordinary books that preach the happiness of all humanity to students and to poor girl-students too.  Ah, ah, seed of the Nihilists, all that!  These poor little fellows and poor little girls who have their heads turned by lectures that they cannot digest!  That is all the trouble, the digestion.  The digestion is needed.  Messieurs the commercial travelers for champagne, who talk together importantly in the lobbies of the Grand Morskaia Hotel and who have studied the Russian people even in the most distant cities where champagne is sold, will tell you that over any table of hors-d’oeuvres, and will regulate the whole question of the Revolution between two little glasses of vodka, swallowed properly, quickly, elbow up, at a single draught, in the Russian manner.  Simply an affair of digestion, they tell you.  Who is the fool that would dare compare a young gentleman who has well digested a bottle of champagne or two, and another young man who has poorly digested the lucubrations of, who shall we say? - the lucubrations of the economists?  The economists?  The economists!  Fools who compete which can make the most violent statements!  Those who read them and don’t understand them go off like a bomb!  Your health!  Nichevo!  The world goes round still, doesn’t it?

Discussion political, economic, revolutionary, and other in the room where they munch hors-d’oeuvres!  You will hear it all as you pass through the hotel to your chamber, young Rouletabille.  Get quickly now to the home of Koupriane, if you don’t wish to arrive there at luncheon-time; then you would have to put off these serious affairs until evening.

The Department of Police.  Massive entrance, heavily guarded, a great lobby, halls with swinging doors, many obsequious schwitzars on the lookout for tips, many poor creatures sitting against the walls on dirty benches, desks and clerks, brilliant boots and epaulets of gay young officers who are telling tales of the Aquarium with great relish.

“Monsieur Rouletabille!  Ah, yes.  Please be seated.  Delighted, M. Koupriane will be very happy to receive you, but just at this moment he is at inspection.  Yes, the inspection of the police dormitories in the barracks.  We will take you there.  His own idea!  He doesn’t neglect anything, does he?  A great Chief.  Have you seen the police-guards’ dormitory?  Admirable!  The first dormitories of the world.  We say that without wishing to offend France.  We love France.  A great nation!  I will take you immediately to M. Koupriane.  I shall be delighted.”