She told us hastily that a meeting had been held at the square in front of the county hall. Captain Bajatz, who last winter had driven the Czechs out of the town, announced from the balcony that the situation was hopeless. “It is a military impossibility to hold the town.” An officer then exclaimed: “Down with the Dictatorship of the Proletariat!” Whereupon Comrade Sugár, the political delegate, elbowed his way to the front on the balcony and incited the people against the bourgeoisie and the officers. “They must be extirpated! Spare neither women nor children! It is they who have brought the Czechs down on us!” The attitude of the crowd changed suddenly: fists were raised and bayonets pointed towards the bourgeoisie. Blood flowed. Captain Bajatz fled: he was last seen riding towards Kóvár, and as he reached the bridge the Reds opened fire on him. That was the gratitude of Balassagyarmat for his having saved it once. However, he spurred his horse and with two other officers rode over to the Czech lines. Since then the other bank of the Ipoly has livened up. And in the streets of the town the Proletarians are clamouring for our death and shout that they are going to kill the hostages if the Czechs enter. “The whole town is in an uproar, and the railway barriers are guarded. Let us go!” I was loth to go, and Mrs. Beniczky looked affected too. She said nothing, but she must have wondered that I should leave her now, when it was fear of a Czech bombardment that had driven me here. “I must explain.... It was not because of the—of the bombardment that I came here.” “I knew that much, Elisabeth; it was not fear that brought you here. But I did not question you, I just enjoyed having you.” The assumed name suddenly became unbearable. “Dear Mrs. Beniczky, I am not the person you think.” She stepped back and looked at me in surprise. “But who are you then?” Her eyes sparkled when I told her. “Goodness me! But then....” She kissed me and her face showed clearly that she was anything but displeased. “Mind you come back if things turn out otherwise than you expect.” And she looked after us as long as her eyes could follow. Most of the soldiers had removed the red ribbon from their caps and had replaced it by a white flower. By nightfall whole troops of them were going off. A bandylegged, unkempt young Jew was hurrying towards Mohora. “There goes Béla Kun’s soldier!” the Reds shouted. They laughed and one of them spat in the dust.