"But, Wenzel, I am Hungarian born and bred, I, who have, under a different name, suffered untold miseries at the hands of the Bolshevik swine, I am prepared to give my life gladly, and doubtless shall, to bring an end to the Red Terror. But you--you are an Englishman, a foreigner! Why, already we Hungarians owe you far more than we can ever hope to pay. Why should you linger here, your life forfeit the moment you are discovered?" Wenzel did not at first reply, but when he did his voice was curiously soft: "Dear friend, ask me not my reasons. Sufficient that even though death means nothing to me, should I allow you to stay here in danger, you who act as my eyes and ears in the Soviet Council, and yet fear to come myself? Pursue not the question, Apor. It hurts. Now tell me the latest plans." "Conditions are more terrible than ever, as I have already said; but, worse still, petty counter-revolutions are springing up all over the place." The Englishman made an angry exclamation. "Fools! Why must they set about such hazardous undertakings, which can only end in humiliating defeat? If they would only wait with patience just a little longer. In Vienna there is already a movement afoot.... Yet I may not say more--in fact, I know very little myself. Soon I expect a friend with news, but until then..." "Do not blame them, Wenzel. In one way--well, it is pleasing to note that there are still Hungarians living who love their country, who have not fallen under the thrall of the mouthing Bolshevik orators." There was a significant undercurrent in his voice, almost of apology, which did not escape Wenzel's keen ear. They were passing under one of the few street lamps which were still burning, and the Englishman put out his hand and restrained the other, then swung him round so that they were face to face. "Apor, you are not joining any counter-revolutionary movement?" Beneath his steady scrutiny Apor's eyes dropped, and Wenzel knew that he had guessed the truth. "Apor! Why must you? Don't you realize that the time is not yet? You will only run your head into the loop which awaits it if you continue; and if you do not fear death, won't you please try to remember that, situated as at present, you are a most valuable spy? There are more saved lives to your credit than fingers on your hand." "I know! I know!" Apor shook his head helplessly, and there was an unhappy crease just above his eyes. "Yet my soul writhes every time I look at the Red cockade. It is the insignia of blood. Supposing one of the counter-revolutionary movements should turn out to be a success and I were not in it? I should never forgive myself."