“It must not be forgotten,” he declared, “that, though it may ruin a few individuals and now and then inflict hardships on certain people, it has to be borne in the interest of the community. Let us pour oil on the wheels of the new Government and let us do all in our power to make it a success, because that is the interest of the Hungarian people.” They speak like that. Adorned ostentatiously with red flowers and a red hat—wearing the hangman’s colours—these two human beings walk about after having achieved their work. One of their confidants, a Communist comrade, said of them: “Károlyi and his wife wanted a revolution that he might become the President of the Republic. Now they want Bolshevism that in the reaction which they hope will follow in its suit they may rule as autocrats.” And the confidant grinned as he spoke. Is this the solution of their enigma? I don’t know. Those who say so have stirred the witches’ cauldron with them. Suddenly I saw Béla Kun. I saw him as he had appeared to me on New Year’s Eve at the barracks when he went to incite the soldiers. Károlyi let him, Pogány helped him. Now they sit all together. And Számuelly is with them, so are Kunfi, Landler and Böhm. They have not yet recovered from the first shock: their good fortune has surpassed their wildest expectations. Even in their dreams they had never hoped for so much. [Illustration: TWO “RED” POSTERS. ] At Limanova and at Doberedo the Hungarians showed themselves obstinate heroes; who would have thought that they would so easily bend their heads under the yoke? The all-powerful Peoples’ Commissaries are already moving. The people are crowding in front of the editorial offices of ‘The Red Newspaper,’ where Számuelly’s belongings are being packed on a carriage. Béla Kun too is leaving the two rooms which he had hired with Russian money under the name of Dr. Sebestyén. Whither are they going? Into the royal castle? Into the Prime Minister’s palace, or elsewhere? They have the widest possible choice: everything is theirs. There was a knock at my door. One friend after another came in bringing news. Béla Kun has sent Communist agitators all over the country. They drive through the villages in motor-cars, beflagged in red, and shout: “The Dictatorship of the Proletariat has been proclaimed! Kill the gentlefolk!” A new order has been issued: it is forbidden to wear arms; even revolvers have to be delivered to the authorities. Only the ‘reliable people,’ Red soldiers, factory guards and workmen’s levies, are allowed weapons. The shops remain closed: their goods are declared common property. The newspapers are to be communised or prohibited. The buildings of the conservative _Budapesti Hirlap_ have been occupied by the editorial staff of ‘The Red Newspaper.’ Armed men occupy the tables, and on the front of the building the Red flag floats.