“Well,” I resumed, “why did you kill this man?” and I pointed at the disfigured body at my feet. “He was the kindest officer in the Corps. He never beat, never punished a soldier. He was always courteous, to privates and officers alike. He never spoke contemptuously to any one. Only a month ago he wanted to be transferred and you insisted on keeping him. That was four weeks ago. Had he changed, could he have changed, in such a short time? “He was like a father to his men. Weren’t you always proud of him? Didn’t you always boast that in his regiment the food was good, the soldiers were well shod, the baths were regular? Didn’t you, of your own accord, reward him with a Soldiers’ Cross, the highest honour that the free Russian army has to offer? “And now you have killed, with your own hands, this noble soul, this rare example of human kindness. Why? “Why did you do it?” I turned fiercely on the men. “Because he was of the exploiting class,” came one answer. “They all suck our blood!” shouted, some others. “Why let her talk? Who is she that she should question us?” somebody cried out. “Kill her! Kill her, too! Kill them all! We have shed enough of our blood! The bourgeois! The murderers! Kill her!” was shouted from many throats. “Scoundrels!” I screamed. “You will kill me yet, I am at your mercy, and I came out to be killed. You ask why I should be allowed to talk. You ask who I am. As if you didn’t know me! Who is Yashka Botchkareva? “Who sent delegates to present icons to me, if not you? Who had me promoted to the rank of an officer, if not you? Who sent me this testimonial to Petrograd only a couple of weeks ago, if not you?” Here I drew out from my breast pocket the resolution passed and signed by the Corps Committee and despatched to me while I was in the Petrograd Hospital. I had brought it with me. Pointing to the signatures, I cried: “You see this? Who signed it, if not you yourselves? It is signed by the Corps Committee, your own representatives, whom you, yourselves, elected!” The men were silent. “Who suffered, fought with you, if not I? Who saved your lives under fire, if not Yashka? Don’t you remember what I did for your comrades at Narotch, when, up to my armpits in mud, I dragged dozens of you to safety and life?” Here, I turned abruptly on a gaping fellow, looked directly at him and asked: “Suppose the rank and file were to elect their own officers. Now, what would you do in the Commander’s place, if you were chosen? You are a plain soldier, of the people. Tell me what you would do!” I thundered. The man looked foolish, making an effort to laugh. “Ha, I would see,” he said, “once I got there.” “That is no answer. Tell me what you would do if our Corps were in the trenches and another one refused to relieve it. What would you do? What?” I demanded of the whole crowd. “Would you hold the trenches indefinitely or leave? Answer me that!” “Well, we would leave, anyhow,” replied a number of men.