room, where the inspectors seemed to gloat over their possible victim, who was attempting to bring arms into Morocco without the necessary special permit. I had not secured the required document, because I had not been told in Paris of the necessity for doing so. During the preliminary discussion one of the inspectors, noticing my name on one of our pieces, announced immediately and with a great show of gravity:
"A-ha! We have orders to direct you to the police."
"Why so?" I asked in astonishment.
"We have received instructions to this effect from the local consul," he answered. "Please follow me."
Accompanying him to the police officials, an older and a younger one, I exhibited our passports and explained to them why I had no special permit for the arms. The older man set his seal on our documents, smiled, turned to his younger associate and directed him:
"Please take care of the lady and gentleman." Then to us: "Good-bye."
Take care of us! These words recalled vividly to my mind an event in my earlier life, when, during my student days in St. Petersburg, some companions and I were rounded up after a meeting and taken to Police Headquarters, from where we were passed on to the office of an official of the gendarmes and were told that these would "take care" of us. This process of "taking care" of us lasted two months and necessitated our residence in prison during that time.
Having nothing on my conscience against France, I felt confident of a better outcome in this application of the phrase and had only to wait a moment to see our luggage
