d been to Ipek.

France, as Russia's ally, had sprung into high favour and was
contemplating the erection of a "nouveau art" Legation. And the
new French Minister's little boy put his hands behind his back when
introduced to me, and said: "I cannot shake hands with you,
Mademoiselle, till you assure me you are not the friend of the
Yellow Monkeys." Thus are peace and goodwill taught to children in
the "civilized" lands of West Europe.

I started for Vuchidol, which the Prince had expressly desired me to
visit, by way of Grahovo. Each village knew of my ride to Ipek, and
received me with enthusiasm. Each told the same tale. The rising
planned to take place throughout the Balkans in 1904 had been
stopped by the misfortunes of the Russo-Japanese War. Montenegro was
aghast at the duration of the war, and her faith in Russia as a God
Almighty was badly shaken.

Feeling ran high against Bulgaria, for a rumour, started, it was
said, by Chedo Miyatovitch, declared that England had promised
Constantinople to Prince Ferdinand, and this would interfere with
the reconstruction of Great Serbia, which was to be made at all
costs. We little thought then the stupendous price the world would
pay for it!

There was some dread lest, Russia being now occupied in the Far
East, Austria should move. On the way we picked up an old man of the
Banyani tribe, over six feet, and hook-nosed. He pointed out
landmarks with his long chibouk, carried an old flintlock, and
seemed to live in terror of enemies. "Golden pobratim!" he said
earnestly to Krsto, "dear brother, listen! My house is but two hours
from the frontier. The Austrians can come. Thank God I have this
gun! The Tsar of Russia should send plenty of soldiers, then we
could live in safety." Nor could we reassure him. He was going to
Cetinje to beg the Gospodar to write to the Tsar for troops. "May God
slay me, dear brother, but the clanger is great." I stood him a
drink and he went tracking over the mountains Cetinje-wards with his
antique weapon.

We went on through a land the filth and poverty of which Is
unimaginable to those who have never left England. The sterile
waterless rocks make it impossible to live with any decency. The
worst English slum is luxury in comparison. Barely enough water to
drink. None to wash in. One day I had nothing but dirty melted snow
out of a hole. Vermin swarmed and no one worried about them. "If we
had only as many gold pieces as lice," said folk che