Hours passed by. In the castle yard the Communists were packing up, taking whatever they fancied. I sat quietly in my room and looked out through the window. Sometimes a noise made me draw back, then I returned to my post of observation. It may have been about noon when a hand-driven trolley car arrived from Aszód. Voices issued commands in the small office and steps were heard all over the house. I held my breath in alarm. At last they went, and silence ensued. Dinner was ready in the kitchen: there was a smell of boiled potatoes. I was very hungry and the good woman offered me some, but there were so few on the little earthenware dish. “No, thank you, it is too early.” Later on the girl sent a message from the castle that the Communists had eaten or carried away everything eatable from the kitchen and the larder. She could send me no food, but would I write my name down so that she might inform the Countess when she came home? I remembered the _alias_ Elisabeth Kállay had selected for me to hide my identity when I came to Balassagyarmat: ‘Elisabeth Földváry’.... I repeated it to myself several times. It seemed funny that henceforth this should be the name by which I should be known. The guard’s wife tore the date from the calendar and told me I could write it down on that, but I did not do so, and she took no notice. She came and went, working in the house like an ant, tidied up her kitchen, then took the red curtain from the window and began to wash the window panes. The rain had stopped and a cold wind whistled and howled, driving the clouds before it. In the house the signal bells hummed all the while. The guard came in, rolling a grimy little signal flag in his hands, and spoke to his wife about the Communists. If this went on much longer they would carry off everything from the castle. He spoke to me too, and told me that when the people from Aszód had arrested Count Ráday he had been compelled to wash the Jews’ cars in the street. “But he gave it them! He turned up the sleeves of his shirt and ordered the scoundrels to watch him, saying ‘now you shall learn how to do this job properly!’” The guard laughed to himself: the story pleased him immensely: “But then the men of Iklád got out their scythes, and the next two villages joined them. They were going to fetch the Count and the Countess with six horses, because each village insisted on supplying at least two horses for his carriage....” Suddenly the guard went out. I saw his cap in front of the window and he held the signal flag in his hand. With a great clatter a clumsy goods train passed over the rails. Soldiers with red ribbons were escorting it and shouted at him as they passed. A chalked inscription ornamented the black waggons: ‘Long live Béla Kun! Long live the Red army!’