"Was I?" She laughed softly. "There is so little to tell you. Until the night you rescued us my life had been uneventful, monsieur. I have lived all my life at the Castle Gisella, except only during my schooldays, or whenever my father journeyed to Berlin, Paris, or London. Then he took me with him. "I have been shut off from the world since 1914, though I have been happy and content, except when hearing of the wounds my unhappy country has suffered. Not even of the Commune had my father and I heard anything until a few minutes before we were invaded by the villagers." "You must suffer all the more then, now that your eyes are open?" "Indeed, yes. It has been terrible! Each day we hear worse news, until it seems that the woes of Hungary are unending." Suddenly she choked. "Yesterday I received the worst information of all." Wenzel frowned, wondering why he had not been informed by Terhune of fresh facts. Then he remembered that he had seen his lieutenant for a few minutes only. "Yes, yes," he impatiently prompted her. "Yesterday Monsieur Terhune arrived at the _château_ with a fresh visitor from Budapest----" "Dregely?" "Yes. Poor Gobor Dregely. He too has lost everything like the rest of us. This morning he and I were talking together of old times. He knew all my relations in Budapest, and--and--oh, monsieur, he told me of the murder in the streets of my cousin, Coloman. Coloman and his friend were walking home one night; they met a group of drunken Communists who demanded of them to hack the royal crown from their uniforms. Coloman refused and--and then--oh! it seems impossible--one of the Communists snatched a revolver from his pocket and shot down my cousin and his friend." Her voice broke, and Wenzel heard the sound of a stifled sob. He breathed hoarsely. Suddenly all other feelings were gone save those of blind, murderous hate. His hands clenched till the nails of his fingers bit into the flesh of his palm, but he felt nothing of the physical pain, only an overpowering mental anguish at the thought of the brutal murder. Always he felt thus upon hearing fresh Communist horrors; this time it was intensified by the fact that one of the victims was Elizabeth's cousin. "Dregely--knows he who was that Communist, by any chance?" Fiercely he put the question to her, not daring to hope that she would be able to reply in the affirmative. Her voice hardened: "Yes. Dregely was Coloman's friend, and by some means found out. He wanted revenge, but the Communist left Budapest." "Yes, yes; but who was the murderer?" "He was a People's Commissary, by name Comrade Gonnard. When Dregely searched for him he heard that Gonnard was touring the country, preaching on behalf of the Commune for sanguinary measures against the _bourgeoisie_. Dregely would have followed, but he was proscribed an outlaw, and so had to flee himself from the clutches of the Communists. Only now is he safe, thanks to the White Knight."