At the Supreme Soviet Council, in permanent session at the Hapsburg Palace, questions and answers were flung to and fro across the table. Comrade blamed comrade, and easily aroused suspicions disfigured the already brutal faces. Their prey, like a plucked goose, hot and sizzling from the spit, had been snatched from their watering mouths, and the anger of the rulers of the nation was unbounded. Their pride was insulted, their prestige threatened. They turned their knit and scowling brows toward Szamuelly, who smiled banefully. "Peace, comrades! What matters the loss of one chicken from such a well-filled run? Who misses a single grain of wheat from a bushel?" "Ho," said Pogany, "but do hens only inhabit the roost? There are also cocks which crow." "Yes, and from one grain of wheat may spring many other grains, remember, Comrade Szamuelly," cried another. "Quite so, quite so, friends. I agree with you, and that is why I say--give me my way. Three days' loot and pillage and I swear there would be no cocks left to crow. Death to the _bourgeoisie_! Hang the magnates! Let them join the traitor Tisza. What say you, comrades?" From several directions came affirmative cries. "Well said, Szamuelly! three days' sack." "Well said! 'Tis what I say too." Pleased with the reception of his words Szamuelly continued, his voice rising higher as the prospect of the sanguinary feast for which he had long been working seemed appreciably nearer. "Remember, friends, the world looks upon us as disciples of Russia to-day, to-morrow we may be leading other countries along the road to freedom. A glorious millennium is before us, yet there is still work to be done and done well. We have enemies working against us. Any moment may see a counter-revolution commencing. We must strike now, kill these pestilent rebels, and plant fear into the hearts of the waverers. As, in the past, we have been ruled by the whip, so now must we govern with a rod of iron. Kill, kill! Let the red blood spurting from the corpses of the _bourgeoisie_ carry its own message." He laughed. "There will be many who will be pleased to join our ranks afterwards." He sat down, the big hall resounding with feverish applause, and only the chosen of Lenin, Bela Kun, President of the Council, remained silent. His hate for his superiors, his lust for power, were not one whit less than that of his bloodthirsty lieutenant, yet he feared to say the word which would permit the execution of a measure which might prove to be the blackest blot in the history of Hungary. What streak of caution, what strange emotion restrained him, none can say. Perhaps he feared ghosts of the past, perhaps shadows of the Hapsburgs, aghast at the sacrilege of this invasion of their sacred domain, strung together his lips with spiritual threads. Whatever it may have been bleeding Budapest was spared; the ravenous wolves contented themselves with spasmodic raids and petty pilfery.