...
I stood in the doorway, and a sudden silence ran among the groups,
who turned and stared at me. Of a sudden they began to move, slowly
and then with a rush, thundering, with faces full of hate.
"Comrades! Comrades!" yelled one of my guards. "Committee!
Committee!" The throng halted, banked around me, muttering. Out of
them shouldered a lean youth, wearing a red arm-band.
"Who is this?" he asked roughly. The guards explained. "Give me the
paper!" He read it carefully, glancing at me with keen eyes. Then he
smiled and handed me the pass. "Comrades, this is an American
comrade. I am Chairman of the Committee, and I welcome you to the
Regiment...." A sudden general buzz grew into a roar of greeting, and
they pressed forward to shake my hand.
"You have not dined? Here we have had our dinner. You shall go to
the Officers' Club, where there are some who speak your language...."
He led me across the court-yard to the door of another building. An
aristocratic-looking youth, with the shoulder straps of a
Lieutenant, was entering. The Chairman presented me, and shaking
hands, went back.
"I am Stepan Georgevitch Morovsky, at your service," said the
Lieutenant, in perfect French. From the ornate entrance hall a
ceremonial staircase led upward, lighted by glittering lustres. On
the second floor billiard-rooms, card-rooms, a library opened from
the hall.
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