Outside, the rain was falling and the world was full of Red soldiers, detectives, hatred, misery, dirt, fear, humiliation. In here the little children were praying in their long white nightgowns and over their bed a tiny red, white, and green flag was dangling like an emblem of faith. The electric lights went out: it was eleven o’clock. The house became quiet. We stayed up for a time round a single candle. Words were unnecessary between us. We all felt equally the terrible misfortune of our country: the sufferings of each of us were due to the same cause. “Many good friends have fled this way,” said Aladár Huszár. “Will you help me over, too?” He shook his head. “The river is in flood and the bridges are guarded. It cannot be managed yet. You must stay here; it is only a question of days. Colonial troops have been seen near by and my men tell me that there are some at one of the bridges. To-day we heard that British troops had arrived. They say there are thirty thousand of them. The French are in Arad. They may come here this very night. Wait for the downfall of the Soviet.” I was tired, dead tired, but in spite of my exhaustion his words refreshed me as though they heralded the coming of dawn. It seemed strange not to be sent away. They did not want me to go. I should be allowed to rest a little. I felt extreme gratitude but could find no words in which to express it. CHAPTER VI BALASSAGYARMAT, _April 17th_. I thought my excitements had come to an end, but ill-fortune has looked me in the face again. It has just glanced at me, but has not seized me yet. And now, how long shall I be here? Shall I be driven away, or will this be the scene of my capture? I can no longer see the end of my road. I never seem to know when I shall be able to put a full-stop at the end of my sentence. It makes no difference. If my diary must remain a fragment, fragments can bear witness. Every clod plays its part in a land-slide, and there is some fragment of the great tragedy in every particle that composes it. When I woke this morning it took me a long time to realise where I was. The daylight was reflected from the glass doors of a bookcase, and I heard the sound of a reedflute. The primitive melodies of the cow-herd mingled with the trampling of the cattle. But where was I? Something gripped my heart and forced the truth from it. A fugitive, an outlaw! I looked out of the window: cows were coming down the little street on the outskirts of the town. Everything was different from my surroundings of yesterday. The house opposite was indifferently, ignorantly looking at its reflection in the puddles. Somewhere in that direction the railway station must lie, and the road to it crosses the square in front of the town hall. I had a good idea what this square must be like. A big market with arcades, an old fountain, the old town hall with its tower.... Yes, it must be like that.