Mechanically they moved on. Everywhere it was the same. Destruction abounded. Tiny _objets d'art_ thrown into the grate, exquisite tapestry pulled off the walls to clean the boots of the proletariat. In due course Comrade Grocz saw them. "Hullo, comrade! hullo, sister!" He greeted them familiarly. "Jolly little place you have had here in the past. So nice in fact that it is a pity you have not had an opportunity of sharing it before. By order of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat your jewellery is confiscated, together with all other objects of value. Your castle will be shared by good Communists. I have allotted you two rooms to yourselves, out of my generosity. The rest will be common rooms. Pass on, comrades; remember the Dictatorship of the Proletariat has come to stay." He moved, laughing harshly. Dismayed, bewildered, Elizabeth and her father falteringly stumbled along the passage. Communists passed, bearing in their arms bundles of clothes, pieces of furniture, cushions, pillows, but not one appeared to notice them. Were they not all equal now? At last they found their rooms, traced them in that they were unoccupied, and that on the floor were tossed their clothes, a paltry few, transferred from their proper wardrobes by order of Comrade Grocz. Just two rooms; a bedroom each to the father and daughter who, but a few hours ago, had owned the whole castle. "I--I will go in--for a rest." Keeping his face sedulously hidden from his daughter, Imre mumbled the words beneath his breath and tottered into his new bedroom. She followed and caught hold of his arm in support, but he waved her away. "Go, my child--I want--want to be alone." There was a break in his voice, and hearing it Elizabeth choked, conscious that there was a suspicious lump in her own throat. Imre sank into a chair, his head bowed. Elizabeth tiptoed from the room and quietly shut the door. Not far away was a bathroom. She would have washed, but she found the bolt wrenched off. Under the Bolshevik _régime_ there was to be no privacy. It was part of their policy, a Communistic theory, that the sexes be thrown promiscuously together. Even modesty was to be State-owned. Hardly conscious of her actions she returned to her room. It seemed hot, stuffy, and smelly from contact with the Communists. She crossed to the window and flung it open, breathing in the spring air with deep gasps. That at least was pure, perhaps the only pure thing left in unhappy Hungary. Somehow it surprised Elizabeth that Nature still smiled. It did not seem possible for anyone or anything to smile now. Yet it was so. The gentle breeze whispered its lullaby, the sun shone gaily, and the fleecy clouds, leisurely wafting along, served to emphasize the sparkling sapphire hue of the sky.