It was Lenke Kállay who pointed out that it was essential that the servants should not know whither I went. I was to travel to Aszód as if I were going to Budapest, turn back there and go to Balassagyarmat. I shuddered with disgust: the station of Aszód with its red flags, the fat political delegate, the fiddler, the Internationale, came to my mind. I remembered a seat on the platform and reflected that I should have to sit there from seven in the morning till five in the afternoon. The people would be able to look at me without my being able to hide my face. As soon as I was alone these details assailed me with redoubled force. I leant my forehead against the windowpane, which felt smooth and cold, and soothed me as a cool hand might have done. I looked at my watch. It had stopped: I had forgotten to wind it up. A carriage rattled by under the window; it was taking Charles Kiss to the station. To-morrow at the same time it would carry me, and I shall be alone. I had refused to go with him, my fate must not be shared by others: anyone arrested in my company would be dragged down with me to the same disaster. Let him go, if possible, in peace; let him make his escape, my gratitude will go with him. No one has ever shown me greater kindness than he. CHAPTER V _April 15th–16th._ My last day in Berczel. It seems to me as if a mischievous hand had passed over the pleasant picture and had effaced it. Here and there a tinge remained. This morning the sun was shining on the lawn in front of my window and in its golden rays the dog scampered eagerly. Afternoon wore quickly on, and the sun shone no longer. The ears of corn rustled together in the gilt clock on the wall. How many grains are there still in store for me? Young George Kállay went for Baron Jeszenszky, whose advice was certain to be worth having. When he was told what had happened he grasped the situation at once. He wrote me a letter of recommendation to the dismissed magistrate of Aszód and took charge of my papers. “I shall put them up the chimney. They may not find them there.” Beyond the garden on the crest of the hillocks the train from Aszód was passing along like a tiny, smoking toy. This train had been haunting me the whole day. Now it was gone. For this one day I need not fear the arrival of the bloodhounds. And if they should come to-morrow they will find the place empty. “A carriage from the station should be here by now,” said Lenke. So they had been thinking of the same thing. The horn of a motor-car resounded on the main road. Mrs. Kállay looked up from her embroidery: “I had a bad dream last night. I dreamt that a big motor stopped in front of the house and that detectives stepped out of it.”