This morning a soldier I had not seen before came in through the garden gate, bringing the officer’s dinner in a canteen. He put down the canteen on the steps of the terrace and went into the kitchen. The men have ordered roast veal for their own dinner. When he came back he saw that a dog was licking the officer’s food. “What does it matter?” said he; “dogs can feed out of the same trencher.” * * * * * _May 14th._ The last frost was shimmering on the grass, and machine-guns were clattering away as if needles of steel were sewing a shroud in the air. A cloud rose on the main road, as if raised by a whirlwind: a carriage came racing along at a mad gallop. A young man was driving, giving the horses their head, and as he leant forward I saw that he had a gentlemanly appearance. That was all I could see through the dust; the carriage passed in a flash. Shots were fired at it. “Stop him!” howled a hoarse, thick voice from a cottage. They are going to arrest him; already a mounted trooper is galloping after him. But his horse shied at the shooting, rose on its hind legs, and then swerved with his rider into the fields. Meanwhile the carriage had disappeared, and my heart followed it. The fate of the driver is mine, his escape is my escape. I do not know who he was. I could not even see his face clearly, but he is ‘wanted,’ so we are friends. It is only thieves and malefactors who are not hounded in Hungary to-day. They are free, they judge, rule, and speak in the name of the country. Those who are hunted are my brethren. * * * * * _May 16th._ The garden has never attained such supreme beauty; it seems to open in the morning as for an embrace. Its silence was interrupted this morning, however, by a sound like a giant blue-bottle humming in the distance. It flew fast, came nearer and nearer, its hum became a roar. A motor-car was racing along, a grey, luxurious field car, like the one the King used to have. I looked out between the shrubs. The car stopped near the path, and the driver in his leather coat leant forward, adjusting something near the steering wheel. There were three passengers in the car, the one on the right, lolling back among the cushions, a fat, high-shouldered, short-necked, broad Jew, whose very attitude was unpleasant. Under his flat Soviet cap greasy black hair curled over his neck. His clean-shaven face reminded one of a music-hall artist.