It is said that Colonel Julier, the new Chief of Staff, who was forced to take Stromfeld’s place at the point of the revolver, will be Red only till he has crossed the Tisza. It is also said that whole battalions of the Red army are deserting to Szeged. In our imagination that town, like a mirage, is floating amidst national coloured flags on the banks of the Tisza, above the Great Plain. We see the three colours, we hear the National Anthem whenever we think of the town. Our proscribed flag, our proscribed hymn! I am a beggar, for the property of the dead and the condemned reverts to the Soviet. But when my imagination sees the three colours floating against the sky, when the great prayer of my race echoes in my mind, I am the richest woman in Hungary. A hand has put ‘The Red Newspaper’ on the table: big type again:—“Revolutionary outbreaks in Paris, Berlin and Turin. Demonstrations of the foreign Proletariat in favour of the world-revolution.” Then, set in small type, a short notice:—“Kiel.... The demonstrations have passed without the slightest disturbance.” That is the history of the world-revolution. It is finished and the door is still open. * * * * * _July 23rd._ The news is in everybody’s mouth: the Reds have won a decisive victory on the Tisza and the members of the Directorate have regained their confidence. It is from the attitude of these people that the town reads the position of the Dictatorship. Their star is in the ascendant and the Proletarians treat us with more rudeness than ever. Red colour has again blossomed out on the soldiers’ caps, but they do not feel too sure about it, and instead of ribbons they wear geraniums. That generally means that the position is doubtful: a ribbon cannot be removed suddenly, a flower is quickly torn off. Goodness only knows how often I have wandered round the little back garden. If it is really true that the Reds have crossed the Tisza! Those who have seen their bestial destruction in their own country, and observed them returning with booty stolen from people of their own blood, must falter when they think of their victims. “What news?” In Huszár’s hand the journal’s yellow, mean paper rustled. “They have crossed ...” he paused, then went on: “... On July 20th we crossed the Tisza at various points.... From Tokaj to Csongrád we are pursuing the beaten Rumanian troops everywhere....”