The French border. Passport checks. A special police commissioner. He looks at your passport and lets you go. He looks and lets you go.
My paper definitely pleased the “special” one.
“Special” looks at it with delight, then at me.
— What is your nationality?
— Russian.
— Where are you coming from?
— From Berlin.
— And where are you going from Berlin to?
— From Stettin.
— And where are you going from Stettin?
— From Reval.
— And where are you going from Reval?
More foreign cities are left. Whatever happens— I drink it down:
— From Moscow.
In reply I get a sheet with a loud name: “Sanitary passport,” and the instruction:
In 24 hours, report to the prefect of the Paris police.