A little hum of applause followed this reply, and that irritated Bohun. He raised his voice: "Yes, and what about your allies, England and France, are you going to betray them?" Several voices took him up now. A man continued: "It is not betrayal. We are not betraying the proletariat of England and France. They are our friends. But the alliance with the French and English Capitalistic Governments was made not by us but by our own Capitalistic Government, which is now destroyed." "Very well, then," said Bohun. "But when the war began did you not--all of you, not only your Government, but you people now sitting in this room--did you not all beg and pray England to come in? During those days before England's intervention, did you not threaten to call us cowards and traitors if we did not come in? _Pomnite_?" There was a storm of answers to this. I could not distinguish much of what it was. I was fixed by Mlle. Finisterre's eagle eye, gleaming at the thought of the storm that was rising. "That's not our affair.... That's not our affair," I heard voices crying. "We did support you. For years we supported you. We lost millions of men in your service.... Now this terrible slaughter must cease, and Russia show the way to peace." Bohun's moment then came upon him. He sprang to his feet, his face crimson, his body quivering; so desperate was his voice, so urgent his distress that the whole room was held. "What has happened to you all? Don't you see, don't you see what you are doing? What has come to you, you who were the most modest people in Europe and are now suddenly the most conceited? What do you hope to do by this surrender?