In his voice I felt there was mingled despair and sincerity.  He frankly put out his hand to me.  Again silence.  At last I answered: 

“What do you order me to do now, for I have neither counterfeit nor real documents?  But many of your officers know me and in Urga I can find many who will testify that I could be neither agitator nor. . .”

“No need, no need!” interrupted the Baron.  “All is clear, all is understood!  I was in your soul and I know all.  It is the truth which Hutuktu Narabanchi has written about you.  What can I do for you?”

I explained how my friend and I had escaped from Soviet Russia in the effort to reach our native land and how a group of Polish soldiers had joined us in the hope of getting back to Poland; and I asked that help be given us to reach the nearest port.

“With pleasure, with pleasure. . . .  I will help you all,” he answered excitedly.  “I shall drive you to Urga in my motor car.  Tomorrow we shall start and there in Urga we shall talk about further arrangements.”

Taking my leave, I went out of the yurta.  On arriving at my quarters, I found Colonel Kazagrandi in great anxiety walking up and down my room.

“Thanks be to God!” he exclaimed and crossed himself.

His joy was very touching but at the same time I thought that the Colonel could have taken much more active measures for the salvation of his guest, if he had been so minded.  The agitation of this day had tired me and made me feel years older.  When I looked in the mirror I was certain there were more white hairs on my head.  At night I could not sleep for the flashing thoughts of the young, fine face of Colonel Philipoff, the pool of blood, the cold eyes of Captain Veseloffsky, the sound of Baron Ungern’s voice with its tones of despair and woe, until finally I sank into a heavy stupor.  I was awakened by Baron Ungern who came to ask pardon that he could not take me in his motor car, because he was obliged to take Daichin Van with him.  But he informed me that he had left instructions to give me his own white camel and two Cossacks as servants.  I had no time to thank him before he rushed out of my room.

Sleep then entirely deserted me, so I dressed and began smoking pipe after pipe of tobacco, as I thought:  “How much easier to fight the Bolsheviki on the swamps of Seybi and to cross the snowy peaks of Ulan Taiga, where the bad demons kill all the travelers they can!  There everything was simple and comprehensible, but here it is all a mad nightmare, a dark and foreboding storm!” I felt some tragedy, some horror in every movement of Baron Ungern, behind whom paced this silent, white-faced Veseloffsky and Death.

CHAPTER XXXIV

The horror of war!