The geometrical figure
beneath was probably idly drawn while the Ministers were waiting for
the end.
"Who are you?" he growled. "What are you doing here?" The others
massed slowly around, staring and beginning to mutter.
_"Provocatori!"_ I heard somebody say. "Looters!" I produced our
passes from the Military Revolutionary Committee. The soldier took
them gingerly, turned them upside down and looked at them without
comprehension. Evidently he could not read. He handed them back and
spat on the floor. _"Bumagi!_ Papers!" said he with contempt. The
mass slowly began to close in, like wild cattle around a cowpuncher
on foot. Over their heads I caught sight of an officer, looking
helpless, and shouted to him. He made for us, shouldering his way
through.
"I'm the Commissar," he said to me. "Who are you? What is it?" The
others held back, waiting. I produced the papers.
"You are foreigners?" he rapidly asked in Franch. "It is very
dangerous...." Then he turned to the mob, holding up our documents.
"Comrades!" he cried. "These people are foreign comrades-from
America. They have come here to be able to tell their countrymen
about the bravery and the revolutionary discipline of the
proletarian army!"
"How do you know that?" replied the big soldier. "I tell you they
are provocators! They say they came here to observe the
revolutionary discipline of the proletarian army, but they have been
wandering freely through the Palace, and how do we know they haven't
got their pockets full of loot?"
_"Pravilno!"_ snarled the others, pressing forward.
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