We had received our coal-permit eight months before, and were sent by the coal-office to a big coal merchant. Week after week passed and we got no coal. I wrote, sent messages, went myself at last. On the stairs of the building misery and cold were thronging patiently, and sad-looking people were loafing about in the office. I had to wait as though in the ante-room of a minister. Now and then the lady secretary called one of us by name. Jewesses in fur coats and with diamond earrings were standing behind me and laughing among themselves. They had come after me, yet they were admitted before me. Beside me a poor woman in a shawl was waiting and a gentleman in a shabby coat which had seen better days. The woman complained quietly: for days she had been unable to cook because she had no fuel. The gentleman, a judge in a high position, said that his children could not get out of bed, but had remained there for over a week, because their rooms were so cold. We waited patiently for hours. Noon passed. The secretary looked at her watch and said aggressively: “Too late, come to-morrow!” “But here is my coal-permit! I got it in April.” The spirit of rebellion rose in me. I felt for the others too, for all of us who waited there, Hungarians, who no longer had any voice in anything. The coal merchant, the secretary, both were Jews. These people have usurped every office and they put off from one day to another what is due to us, or throw it at our heads as if it were a charity. To-morrow! With clenched fists I went the next day, and the day after.... Patient women, weeping old grannies, pushing, angry men. The coal merchant crossed the ante-room quickly, and imploring voices tried to catch his attention. But he answered back like a dictator deciding a question of grace: “Wait your turn!” Again I went, and befurred and bejewelled women came down as I went up, gloating over their success. I heard what they said—_they_ had got what they wanted; and everywhere it is the same. With the impotence of a subdued race we go away empty-handed, and there is no place where we can assert our rights. They have the power, and they laugh in our faces. And the coal in our cellar has been used up and we live in unwarmed rooms. * * * * * _December 2nd._ The morning was still dark when the ringing of a bell broke in upon my dreams. It worried me, floated over my head like the buzzing of a bluebottle, stopped, and started again. I woke. It was the telephone in the ante-room. “The farmer? Oh yes, near our villa! Last night burglars entered the villa ... my sister’s too! I understand....” At the police station I received but cold comfort.