MARSEILLES
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.