They strode towards me menacingly and suddenly I found myself surrounded. They looked round suspiciously, and the leader said roughly: “Why is there a light in this house?” I gave some explanation. One of the soldiers, a long, angry-faced man, leant over me threateningly: “This is no time to have lights burning. Just you look out! If we catch you again we shall hang you on that lamp-post there, at the corner.” When they went I felt as if a throttling hand had released my throat. * * * * * _May 6th._ I have been thinking of my mother all morning. This is her name day, and I cannot be with her. Fate is continually pushing back the hands of the clock that will strike the hour of our reunion. The town is beflagged with red flags. What has happened? Szolnok? Or is it some other victory? The Powers of the Entente have ordered the Rumanians back, and now they are standing waiting beyond the Tisza. Meanwhile we perish here. Számuelly has no time to come here, luckily: he is restoring order in the towns which put out white flags on the arrival of the Rumanians. Six Hungarians were hanged on the 3rd of May. Mrs. Huszár received the news, one of the victims being a relation of hers, Béla Batik, an only son the war left to his mother. Számuelly sat in judgment over him. “Off you go to the gallows!” said he, and he himself put the halter round his neck. Then he lit a cigarette and clapped Batik on the shoulder saying: “It will be all right, my hangman has the knack of it. Listen, you dog! I grant you the time it takes me to smoke this cigarette. If you will tell me meanwhile the names of your accomplices I will let you off.” He then sat down on a chair and smoked while the other stood under the gallows with the rope round his neck. The cigarette was finished. “Long live the White army and Hungary!” Batik shouted, and Számuelly released the trap with his own hand. Bloodstains multiply everywhere. We now know the names of at least two of the victims whose blood has been spilt on the chain bridge. They were Alexander Hollán and his father. They had worked hard all their lives and they were slaughtered by those who called themselves the leaders of the ‘workers.’