In spite of his kind heart--and he was one of the kindest-hearted men I have ever met--he could be quite ruthless in dismissal or rebuke when occasion arrived.
He had a great gift of the Russian irony and he could be also, like all Russians, a child at an instant's call, if something pleased him or if he simply felt that the times were good and the sun was shining.
I only once, in a moment that I shall have, later on, to describe, saw him depressed and out of heart.

He was always a most courteous gentleman.
I drove now with him in a trap at the head of the _Oboz_, as our long train, with our tents, provisions, boxes and beds, was called.

We were a fine company now and my heart was proud as I looked back up the shining road and saw the long winding procession of carts and "sanitars" and remembered how tiny an affair we had been in the beginning.
"Well," said Molozov, "and what of your Englishman ?" "Oh, I like him," I said rather hurriedly.

"He'll do." "I'm glad you think so--very glad.

I was not sure last night....