She was convinced that, to judge by the little she knew of him, he was all that an English gentleman should be, and so she was wont to visualize him as being tall, and owning more than his fair share of strength, for had he not fought the swift Danube current, landing them both in safety--a feat she had previously believed impossible? He had been excellently educated; his cultured voice assured her of that; his accent, the result of four years' practice that he might converse worthily with Zita, was irreproachable, his foreign mannerisms discernible only to the acutest eye. Of his age she was more uncertain. Physically she would have surmised that he was at the zenith of manhood; in strategy and generalship he seemed apparently older by a score of years. That this last assumption might be correct she hated to admit, not realizing that four tense years at the Front more than made up for a thrice longer period lived under mor peaceful conditions. As to his characteristics, she considered it scarcely incumbent upon her to criticize one who risked his life daily to aid the helpless nobility of a country against which he had but lately been fighting, and in any event she could not conceive that in such a man there could be anything other than good. It was only about his looks that she was doubtful. In her imagination she saw him with strong but sympathetic blue eyes, possibly shadowed by slightly heavy eyebrows. His hair, she felt, would be of a nut-brown colour, alive with crisp, irregular curls, while his face surely would be long, consistent with his height. His nose undoubtedly was finely chiselled, his chin round, firmly betraying the masterfulness of its owner. The White Knight! How applicable was the name! He was indeed a knight-errant, truly a 'White' knight as opposed to the 'Reds.' Like a legendary figure of the past, he might have arisen from the ashes of forgotten heroes, have been a reincarnation of one of the saintly king-warriors with whom the pages of Hungary's history abound. Such was her dream-picture of him, such was the cloak of perfection in which she had wrapped his personality! * * * * * * There was a sudden clamour in the street below, and Elizabeth realized that for a brief time she had forgotten her plight in contemplation of the White Knight. She heard a voice shrieking, "Long live the Commune!" and shuddered. How long would the hated Commune exist? Had not the Communists already dragged their country into the lowest depths of degradation, without wishing to exist solely for the purpose of completing the ruin? During her stay in the _château_ she had learned the real meaning of Communism, what it had done to her country, and to Russia also. She tried to struggle to her feet, but found that her legs were lifeless. The rigid attitude of her sleep had prevented the blood from circulating; when she tried to stretch she found she could not move her limbs.