CHAPTER SIXTEENOn a cool November day, I found myself again on the Danube steam-ship, going back the way I had come only six months ago. The wonder of the river scenery had not changed since then — except in its glorious autumn colours — but I rather thought I had.
I stood alone by the ship’s rail, letting the wind blow the ribbons of my bonnet across my cheek, poignantly remembering that other journey in the spring when I had struggled to control Miklós and Anna and secretly conversed for the first time with Lajos Lázár. Today there were no children dangling from my skirts, and I knew for a fact that Lajos was not on board — he was already in Pressburg, waiting for the opening of the Diet. He would be in his element: agitating, inciting, heckling, no doubt holding illegal street meetings
