Later Count Bethlen came to tell me that the internments had been suspended after Szurmay, the former Minister of Defence, and Szterényi, the former Minister of Commerce, had been arrested. They went for them after midnight, arrested them and took them somewhere on the right bank of the Danube. In the evening my mother and I played Patience. It is about the only old-time custom that is left to us now. To-morrow I shall have one more day at home.... As for the day after—but in these times that is such a distant date that one dares not think of it if one wants to live. * * * * * _February 27th._ Bishop Count Mikes has been arrested: his diocese waits for him in vain. Once there was an Archbishop down there in Kalocsa for whom the faithful in the Cathedral waited in vain too, when the time came for Mass. He had girded on his sword, had gone to do battle for Hungary, and had perished with his six bishops on the fields of Mohács. But his spirit is not dead. It has appeared now and then in the history of Hungary, and to-day it is here again. Its name to-day is John Mikes. Some of us who went to the Association this morning spoke of him. Suddenly the news came that Communist soldiers had run amok in the neighbouring street and were coming to break up the women’s meeting. “Let’s go,” somebody suggested. “I stay!” And three others stayed with me to see it through. To save our rings and watches we handed them to one of those who left. There were shouts in the street. People were running about in the house. Then the noise subsided and the visit of the Reds did not come off. In the afternoon I went to see the daughter of General Türr, the Hungarian who had been Garibaldi’s right-hand man and one of the heroes of Italy’s fight for freedom. It was rather a shock to see an Italian officer there, his chest covered with decorations. Where had he got them? I thought of the Hungarian dead at Doberdo and San Michele. And I also remembered that the Czechs were at present using Italian rifles to beat out the brains of Hungarian peasants in Upper Hungary. When the commander of the American troops landed in France he shouted: “_Nous voilá, Lafayette!_”... When the Italian general who is leading the Czechs over the defenceless Carpathians stepped on Hungarian soil I wonder if he said, “_Nous voilá, Tüköry ... nous voilá, Türr!..._” My hand twitched when I gave it to Italy’s soldier. And yet this stranger seemed a sympathetic, well-intentioned man. And Italy once was my second home, dear good friends of my youth live there and the fate of our two peoples has often taken a common road. We must forget, but it is still very hard.