He looked away, out of the window, dreaming of his lifelong work, his chosen task. Once he had been a soldier, but that was many years ago. He married late, and when his beloved wife died he became a scholar. He dipped and delved into the past, until slowly there was born within him a passion to write of the lives of the kings of Hungary. So he began when Elizabeth was but a child of ten. Soon now, perhaps in two or three years, he would write "Finis," but at times he feared, frightened that the Reaper would forestall him in his cherished ambition. Of late the apprehension had become deeper; it seemed to him that there were moments when his heart fluttered strangely, and so he flung himself into his work, studying from morning till night. Thus he had forgotten an important anniversary, and he chided himself. He need not have done so. Elizabeth understood and sympathized. She left her chair and knelt by his side, laying her head on his knees. "Father darling, you must not say that. Your work means as much to me. I long for the time when your name will ring throughout Hungary, echo from town to town, and later trumpet to the world the glories of our saintly kings, and all they have done for mighty Europe." Bending forward so that his thick, snow-white locks swept over his forehead, he placed his lips upon the masses of her black hair, after which he ran his fingers through its tresses, lovingly caressing the silky texture, admiring the healthy sheen. "Well, well, child, let us hope that the time will come very soon. But now, what news to-day from Budapest? How proceeds the Peace Conference in Paris? Assuredly the Entente will be merciful to broken Hungary. England and America will not forget us." Elizabeth frowned. "Again there are no papers, Father. I do not understand their absence and I am nervous." "Nervous! God bless my soul! What nonsense are you talking? Why should you be nervous?" She sighed. "I do not know. It may be merely a vague impression, yet since King Charles was dethroned----" "Tut, tut, child! Do you not believe that it was diplomacy on the part of Count Michael Karolyi? The Government is in his hands. He is inclined to the Left. His Radical tendencies, we admit, are pronounced, but he could not stab his friends in the back. He is one of our class, one of our own people. Is not his wife the daughter of our greatest statesman? Fear not, child; rest your faith on Count Karolyi." For his sake she smiled suddenly and gaily jumped to her feet. Yet the worry was not altogether driven from Elizabeth's mind by her father's optimism. "Come, Father, to work." "To work! Ah!" Imre's lined face softly wreathed into smiles, and his eyes brightened. Once more he would pick up his beloved pen, to write in words of gold of past glories, all unaware of the ghastly present.