March 10th-11th.
The street was silent. There was no shooting last night and the obscene shouts of drunken patrols were not heard. It might have been about half past one when a cart came down the street and stopped at our front door. “Surely they have not come to fetch me in a cart?” I thought, but all the same I collected my papers and stuck them under the bookcase. There was an odd noise below, as if something were being broken open. Then there followed steps carrying a heavy weight. The thought occurred to me that they might be robbing our cellar. I put out my lamp and went to the window. The street was practically dark, but I thought I could distinguish a cart and a few human figures.
What if they were stealing our coal! The idea made me shudder. I ran to the concièrge, made him open the door, and went out into the street. The cart was standing at the cellar-stairs of the neighbouring house, where a carpenter had his workshop. The night birds were dragging furniture out of it. One of the dark figures stood in front of me: “Good evening, Miss,” he said.
“Good-evening,” I answered, and with the egotism bred of our times I was glad that it was not our cellar into which they had broken. “Good-night,” I added politely. “Good-night,” came the answer.
Only when the door had shut behind me did I realise that these well-intentioned people might easily have knocked me down.
Such are the “Winter’s Tales” enacted in the nights of Budapest....
March 12th.
In the name of the women of Hungary we made a last attempt to-day to unite the adherents of law and order. The leaders gathered at my house: we all realised that this was our last chance. And when at length, after long discussions, we women were left to ourselves, all we could do was to sum up our efforts in the words: “we have failed again!”
Before going to bed the housekeeper brought her account books to my mother. She fixed her inquisitive eyes on me and said: “You look tired, miss. You’ve had so many visitors to-day! Perhaps it was an important meeting?...”