He went into the cabin to talk it over with his _baba_. It was a tempting offer and her consent was apparently quickly obtained, for he soon returned and said: “All right, we will go. Come into the house. We will have tea and something to eat.” The invitation was welcome indeed, as I had grown hungry during my long wait at the station and the walk to the village. When we had finished our tea and lunch and the peasant harnessed his horse, I asked for a large apron, which I put on over my clothes. I then asked for the _baba’s_ winter shawl and wrapped it over my head and shoulders, almost completely covering my face, so that I no longer looked like a Sister of Mercy, but one of the local peasant-women. Praying to God to grant me a safe journey, I seated myself in the cart. The horse started off along the road. The Bolshevik front was still ahead of me. But I was making progress.... CHAPTER XVIII CAUGHT IN A BOLSHEVIK DEATH-TRAP “What shall I say to the sentries?” the moujik asked me as we approached the front positions. “Tell them that you are carrying your sick _baba_ to a hospital in the city, as she is suffering from high fever,” I answered, and I asked him to wrap me in the huge fur overcoat on which he was seated. I was warm enough without it, but I thought that it would raise my temperature even more, and I was not mistaken. Under all the wrappings I looked more like a heap than a human form. When we reached the outposts I began to moan as if in pain. “Where are you going?” I heard a voice ask my driver sharply, as the horse stopped. “To a hospital in the city,” was the answer. “What have you got there?” the inquirer continued. “My _baba_. She is dying. I am taking her to a doctor,” the peasant replied. Here I groaned louder than ever. I was suffocating. My heart was thumping with dread of a sudden exposure and discovery. Every particle of time seemed an age. The sentry who had stopped us apparently talked the matter over with some of his comrades, to the accompaniment of my loud moans. Without uncovering my face he issued a pass to the moujik. My heart beat joyfully as the horse started off at a rapid pace. For a while I still held my breath, hardly daring to believe that I had left Bolshevik territory behind me with so little difficulty. After some time we arrived at Kornilov’s front. The posts along it were held by officers, of whom his force was almost exclusively composed. At one such post we were stopped by an imperative “Halt!” The driver was about to repeat the story of his sick _baba_ when I surprised him by throwing off the fur coat, then the shawl, and jumping out of the vehicle, heaving a deep sigh of relief. I could not help laughing. The moujik must have thought me mad at first. The officers at the post could not understand it either.