Last night two officers staying in the house came into the dining-room bringing maps which they spread on the table. Their faces were the picture of despair. Their position has daily become more insufferable and orders from General Headquarters have now reached the political agents at the front that all officers are to be watched by ‘reliable individuals’—the said reliable individuals being Jews in every case. This routine was begun yesterday, and two soldiers with fixed bayonets are posted in front of every officer’s quarters. They take it in turn to follow their officer wherever he goes, they eat at his table, they sleep in his room. This is in strict accordance with the Russian plan, only Trotsky favours Chinese soldiers for the job. Voices sounded at the door and the officers snatched up their maps. A soldier with his bayonet fixed stood in the doorway. The shade of the hanging lamp cast the light low on the table, so that the soldier’s face remained in the dark; only his repulsive, protruding eyes shone as they passed inquisitively round the room. Then he shouted to the officers: “Come along, comrades!” So we were left alone once more, and only the roar of guns broke the silence of the night. At dawn the little village became a swarming camp. A.S.C. carts covered with tarpaulins came clattering from the direction of Balassagyarmat. The banks of the Ipoly are being evacuated and the soldiers are hastily packing. Camp kitchens and mounted troops clatter along the main road. Dust, clouds of dust. Buglers sounding the ‘fall-in’ and nobody paying the slightest attention. Mrs. Beniczky and I held a council this morning. If the Czechs are really going to occupy Balassagyarmat, nobody would think of looking for me there. What shall I do? Finally we decided that I could go, and we took leave of each other; but it was with a heavy heart I left the old house and the garden behind me. John Kispál, the gardener, a member of the Directorate, proposed to help me reach the town. As we came to the barrier at Szügy an armed soldier barred our road and pointed his bayonet at me. “Where are you going? Have you got a pass? No? Then back you go!” “Steady, man, steady!” said John Kispál with an air of importance. “Don’t you see she is with me? I am a member of the Directorate, and don’t you forget it, my boy!” The soldier looked at me. “Why are you going into the town? What have you got in that parcel?” Then he growled: “Well, you can go to hell if you like, so far as I am concerned.” John Kispál stepped out proudly and his face showed clearly the satisfaction he felt at being such an influential man that even Red soldiers got out of his way. I couldn’t help chuckling: in Soviet Hungary a member of the Directorate uses his influence to help me to escape and carries my bundle on his back. Meanwhile the warrant for my arrest lies on my writing table at home.