For three days, she told me, her mother and herself had been living on the floor of the station. They had only seventy kopecks left in their possession. With this money the mother had gone to the town to find a lodging! More than three months they had been travelling from Yakutsk, where this girl had married a political. All the money in my purse was two hundred roubles. I gave forty and then another twenty to the poor girl. While I was nursing one of the two babies, an official approached me. “Are you Botchkareva?” he asked. “Yes,” I answered. He wanted to detain me, but some of the soldiers who had travelled on the same train with me hurried to my defence. There was a hot argument. I drew out my pass from the Soviet and claimed the freedom to go wherever I pleased. I was finally left in peace. I waited for the return of old Kitova to the last minute, desirous to see her and especially to learn about Yasha and other friends in North Siberia. Her daughter could only tell me that Yasha had married a Yakut woman, after the local fashion, and was still in Amga when last she heard.... We resumed the journey eastward. At Khabarovsk, about 460 miles from Vladivostok, we changed trains and had to accommodate ourselves for the night at the station in the women’s waiting-room. When I was about to settle down for the night, the door opened and a voice behind me called out sharply: “Commander Botchkareva?” “Yes,” I replied, alarmed at this form of address. “Are you going to England?” was the next question. “No.” “Where, then, are you going?” “To Vladivostok, to stay with some relatives.” The official then demanded my baggage in order that he might search it. He found a letter from the Moscow Consul to his Vladivostok colleague. I explained that, the Consul had helped me in Moscow and now asked the English representative at Vladivostok to help me also. The official told me in a whisper that he was only fulfilling orders, but did not sympathize any longer with Lenin’s régime. He had left four soldiers outside the room in order to facilitate matters for me. His eyes then fell on a photograph of me in the trunk. It showed me in full uniform and was the last copy in my possession. He asked for it and my autograph, and to win his good will I gave it to him without demur. He then advised me to conceal the letter from the Consul, and I sent it by Nadia to Ivanov, one of my fellow-travellers outside. One of these was a member of a provincial Soviet, an ex-Bolshevik. He and other soldiers aided me while I was on the train to evade the Red Guards, who used to search it daily, at various stations, for officers going to join General Semenov. More than once, in an emergency, I was concealed under their overcoats. When the Guard asked: “Who’s there?” “A sick comrade,” was the answer, and they passed on.