Hate and disgust were depicted on the faces of the Transylvanian women. That man of Galician origin, the internationalist who wanted to make an eastern Switzerland of our country, and who hated everything that was Hungarian to such an extent that his hatred made him forget the traditional caution of his race and exclaim in a fury when speaking of us, “If they don’t obey, let them be exterminated”—he is sent there to negotiate in the name of the Hungarian race! The very spirit in which he conducted the negotiations showed his eagerness to revenge himself on the nation which had given him hospitality: he renounced what was not his, gave up rights which were ours, and sold Transylvania to Manin’s Roumanian National Council, which he and Károlyi had themselves created during the October days. In Arad the Roumanians speak already of national sovereignty! They claim a Roumanian supremacy and _twenty-six_ Hungarian counties! They demand that the Hungarian Popular Government shall disarm the police, disband the Hungarian National Guards, punish all energetic officers, but ... that it shall provide arms for the Roumanian National Guards and pay for its men and officers out of the Hungarian taxpayer’s pocket. Jászi and the revolutionary Government delegates have promised all this. Meanwhile the Roumanians are dragging out the negotiations, and their voices become more and more sharp and exacting, for do they not know that every hour takes the royal Roumanian troops deeper into the heart of undefended Transylvania? And while at the county hall of Arad the traitors are at work, the main column of Mackensen’s always victorious army is rolling over the bridge across the Maros. Endless rows of motor columns pass. Behind them comes an unceasing flow of army service corps wagons, covered ammunition wagons, lorries, carts and waggonets. Hours and days pass, and they are still going on, orderly, gray, grave. They do not rob, they do not pillage, they just go on, from the foot of the Balkan Mountains, from the frontiers of Transylvania, through Hungary. On foot, on horseback, on wagons, in close columns, on they go, silently, homewards. With them goes hope, and Károlyi watches with an anxious eye: if he turned back, if he lifted his fist.... And Roumanian heads in sheepskin caps appear above the crests of the mountains, look after the Germans, and their feet stamp on Transylvania’s heart. My bitterness overflowed and I burst out, “We shall take it back!” The Transylvanian women pressed my hand. “We shall take it back,” said one of them; “I do not know how, but I feel it will be so.”