And in the dark a heart-breaking sob raised a human protest against all inhumanity.... * * * * * _December 12th._ A big red flag appeared in the streets this morning and went slowly towards the Danube under a gray, smoky sky. Street urchins ran beside it; the rabble rushed on like dust before the wind. The people in the street hugged the walls of the houses and again the flag came in sight, approaching unsteadily, followed by soldiers, at whose head an officer rode, with drawn sword. His face struck me as if I had been hit across the eyes by a twig. His ears projected from both sides under the officer’s cap, and his lips formed a fleshy arc. The face of the leader—the face of the people and of the army. The face of the soldiers of our war of liberation in 1848 was the face of Görgei, of Kossuth, of Petöfi. The face of Hungary of the Great War was the sad, resolute face of Stephen Tisza. The face of the October revolution was Michael Károlyi.... And the face of this detachment with the red flag was the officer heading it. Behind him the infantry came in irregular formation, many of the soldiers smoking. Guns rumbled after them; two gunners sat jolting on one of the guns, red ribbons floating from their caps. They were smoking too.... The crowd went on. A battery of field artillery followed, and Hussars rode at the end. One trooper signalled to a lady friend of his who was passing, stopped his horse and had a nice, comfortable chat with her from the saddle, then he galloped after the rest. Somebody said: “The whole garrison is here! They are going to Buda.” “What for?” Nobody knew. Meanwhile the red flag was climbing up the hillside towards the royal castle. The city and the other quarters of the town knew nothing of this procession. Nobody troubled about it. The citizens of Budapest were apathetic and indifferent, and thought no more about it than did the bridge which suffered the procession to cross it. Men continued to live their precarious lives and everything seemed to be the same as yesterday, but in the afternoon came the news that this garrison had caused the downfall of the War Minister! The Soldiers’ Council and Joseph Pogány had ousted Albert Bartha. It happened in the castle, on St. George’s Square. I heard of it from an eye-witness. The infantry stood in a row, with machine-guns and the artillery behind them. And while threats against Bartha were shouted, the malicious face of Joseph Pogány-Schwarz appeared in one of the windows of the building occupied by the Soldiers’ Council. The officers on horseback saw him and shouted his name and cheered him. Then the demonstrators cheered Károlyi. Meanwhile a delegation of the garrison’s confidential men, led by Dr. Mór, a reserve officer, went up to the Prime Minister and presented him with a paper containing the demands of the garrison. Károlyi received the delegation in deadly fear.