Our car drew up beside the other. The house door opened sharply, several officers rushed out and tried to hide.
“Stand!” commanded the General. “Go back inside.” They obeyed and he entered after them, leaning on his tashur. As the door remained open, I could see and hear everything.
“Woe to them!” whispered the chauffeur. “Our officers knew that the Baron had gone out of the town with me, which means always a long journey, and must have decided to have a good time. He will order them beaten to death with sticks.”
I could see the end of the table covered with bottles and tinned things. At the side two young women were seated, who sprang up at the appearance of the General. I could hear the hoarse voice of Baron Ungern pronouncing sharp, short, stern phrases.
“Your native land is perishing. . . . The shame of it is upon all you Russians . . . and you cannot understand it . . . nor feel it. . . . You need wine and women. . . . Scoundrels! Brutes! . . . One hundred fifty tashur for every man of you.”
The voice fell to a whisper.
“And you, Mesdames, do you not realize the ruin of your people? No? For you it is of no moment. And have you no feeling for your husbands at the front who may even now be killed? You are not women. . . . I honor woman, who feels more deeply and strongly than man; but you are not women! . . . Listen to me, Mesdames. Once more and I will hang you. . . .”
He came back to the car and himself sounded the horn several times. Immediately Mongol horsemen galloped up.
“Take these men to the Commandant. I will send my orders later.”
On the way to the Baron’s yurta we were silent. He was excited and breathed heavily, lighting cigarette after cigarette and throwing them aside after but a single puff or two.