He wanted to hear again Elizabeth speaking. That night in the castle her voice had been so full of throbbing music, so liquidly clear and steady. He wanted to feel once more the velvet softness of her skin, the smooth, cool touch of her fingers. He did not think it treachery to Zita to think thus, for she and Elizabeth seemed so much alike. In the thoughts of them both, in the rapid replacement and displacement of their images in his vision, their differences dissolved, and merged gradually into one; and the face which smiled at him from the happy fastnesses of his dreams was neither that of Zita nor that of Elizabeth. Somewhere within him, though as yet he failed to realize it, the warm blood was beginning to flow again; chilled and frozen by the death of Zita, it was infinitesimally thawed by the thought of Elizabeth. Something tugged at his heart-strings: he felt an overpowering impulse to visit the Château Juhusz, where were Elizabeth and her father, the Bakocz family, and others whom he had rescued. He knew he could get there and back again to Budapest on the morrow; the inclination strengthened as he thought the matter carefully over. Finally he decided to make the journey, and in less than five minutes he was asleep. When he awoke the next morning the sun was shining in a cloudless sky, and because of the strange, unaccountable exuberance of spirits which enveloped him it was as if it were a good omen for his journey to the Château Juhusz. He knew that it was dangerous to venture into the streets in broad daylight; it was well within the bounds of possibility that he might be seen and recognized by any one of a dozen or so people: Bela Kun, Szamuelly, or any one of the Council; Garami or one of the Red guards at the prison; still more likely by one of the many detectives who swarmed the city spying out enemies of the Commune and signs of counter-revolutions. Nevertheless, he was blithely contemptuous of the fact, believing it to be one thing for them to see him, but another to catch him. His legs were capable of covering good ground in the event of a chase; his arms he considered more than equal to two, or even three, of the average stunted and degenerate Bolsheviks; and if it came to gunfire there was in his hip-pocket a fully loaded revolver which he could use effectively. What he did was to wrap his dirty scarf more tightly round his neck, and to pull his cap even further over his eyes; prepared for all emergencies he ventured out and made his way to the station. As he approached nearer his destination he was surprised by its unusual quietness. Where usually it was thronged with travellers, Red guards, surly railwaymen, shouting newsboys, and all the medley of types usually scattered around a railway terminus, this morning there was comparatively no one to be seen, only here and there a small group of people, gesticulating wildly, and arguing with one another.