hes to speak with you!" said he
with much flourish. "He requests you will name an hour when it is
convenient for you to come to the Palace."

It was the first time the Prince had noticed me, I was highly
amused, and replied:

"I can come now if His Royal Highness pleases!"

The Marshal of the Court eyed me doubtfully and hesitated. "I can
wash my hands," said I firmly, "and that is all; I have no clothes
but what I have on." My only other things were in the wash, and I
had repaired myself so far as circumstances allowed. The Marshal of
the Court returned with the message that His Royal Highness would
receive me at once "as a soldier."

I trotted obediently off with him. We arrived at the Palace. It was
a full-dress day, and the Montenegrins never let slip an occasion
for peacocking. The situation pleased me immensely. The Marshal
himself was in his very best white cloth coat and silken sash, gold
waistcoat, and all in keeping. Another glittering functionary
received me and between the two I proceeded upstairs. At the top of
the flight is a large full-length looking-glass, and for the first
time for four months I "saw myself as others saw me." Between the
two towering glittering beings was a small, wiry, lean object, with
flesh burnt copper-colour and garments that had never been anything
to boast of, and were now long past their prime. I could have
laughed aloud when I saw the Prince in full-dress with rows of
medals and orders across his wide chest, awaiting me. It is a
popular superstition, fostered by newspapers in the pay of modistes,
that in order to get on it is necessary to spend untold sums on
dress. But in truth if people really want to get something out of
you they do not care what you look like. Nor will any costume in the
world assist you if you have nothing to say.

The Prince conducted me to an inner room, greeted me politely,
begged me to be seated and then launched into a torrent of questions
about my previous years journey to Ipek. He seemed to think that my
life had not been worth a para, and that the Rugova route was
impossible. "Do you know, Mademoiselle, that what you did was
excessively dangerous?"

"Sire," said I, "it was your Montenegrins who made me do it." He
made no reply to this, but lamented that for him such a tour was out
of the question. And of all things he desired to see the Patriarchia
at Ipek and the Church of Dechani and the relics of the Sveti Kralj.
He had been told I had