THE RED FLAG HAS BEEN HOISTED IN THE FRENCH TRENCHES. REVOLUTION HAS BROKEN OUT IN BELGIUM. SWITZERLAND IS ON THE EVE OF A REVOLUTION. I heard a little school-girl say to her friend: “Károlyi is a great man. He makes the fashion, now even the French are imitating us....” “Long live ...” shouted the walls and the shop windows, but the people were silent. Why? Why don’t they tear down the disgraceful posters? Why are they resigned, why do I alone protest? Or are there more of us, only we don’t know of each other? I looked carefully at the passing faces. Their eyes passed indifferently over the posters. Nothing mattered to them. I walked quickly, as if haunted, a stranger among the soulless crowd. I reached Károlyi’s palace. The one-storeyed house, built in the Empire style, looked low under its old roof among the high, newly erected buildings. The row of windows was dark: Károlyi had already moved into the Prime Minister’s house. The first floor was inhabited only by the tenant of half the building, Count Armin Mikes, and I had come to see his wife. Since the events of October I had not been there. The little side gate opened as I rang, noiselessly, as if automatically, and the _concièrge_ looked out of his _loge_ and disappeared. Nothing stirred. Under the deep arch of the entrance my steps alone resounded; they echoed strangely, as if invisible hands were dropping things behind me. I stopped for an instant. The soul of the place seemed to be whispering in the dark. On the right side a corridor was visible through a glass-panelled door, its walls covered with revolutionary pictures, and at its end a side staircase led into Károlyi’s apartments. I shuddered, as one does when one enters a house where a murder has been committed. The traitors—perjured officers, Gallilest students, deserters—congregated up there, in the dark rooms, in the nights of October. Those who sold us and, among themselves, sentenced Tisza to death whispered and advised up there. I went on. From the semi-obscurity of the huge staircase, marble seemed to tumble down like a frozen waterfall. Beyond, in the garden, the trees whispered in the cold wind.