ke us," was the confident reply. "But
he has only been here a week," I urged. "How can he know yet whether
he likes you or not? In any case what does it matter. It is not
necessary to like a Consul."

"But yes!" came the horrified reply.
"How is it not necessary? One must either love or hate!"

One must either love or hate. There is no medium. It was Dushan
Gregovitch that spoke.

Lazar Mioushkovitch flashed the next beam on the national character.
Some tourists arrived and, at the lunch table, talked with Lazar.
One was a clergyman. He told how Canon McColl during the
Turko-Russian War of 1877 had reported having seen severed heads on
poles, and how all England, including Punch, had jeered at him for
thinking such a thing possible in Europe in the nineteenth century.
Mioushkovitch was sadly puzzled. "But how, I ask you, could he fail
to see severed heads in a war? The cutting off of heads in fact--I
see nothing remarkable in that!" Then, seeing the expression of the
reverend gentleman's face, he added quickly: "But when it comes to
teaching the children to stick cigarettes in the mouths--there I
agree with you, it is a bit too strong!" (c'est un peu fort ca!)
There was a sudden silence. The Near East had, in fact, momentarily
undraped itself.

Last came the days when we daily expected to hear that the Queen of
Italy had given birth to a son and heir. A gun was made ready to
fire twenty-one shots. Candles were prepared to light in every
window. The flags waited to be unfurled. We all sat at lunch in the
hotel. The door flew open and a perianik (royal guard) entered. He
spoke a few words to Monsieur Piguet, the Prince's tutor. Piguet
excused himself and left the room.

After some interval he returned, heaved a heavy sigh, and in a voice
of deep depression, said to the Diplomatic table: Eh bien Messieurs
--nous avons une fille! It was appalling. No one in Montenegro, it
would appear, had thought such a catastrophe even possible. To the
Montenegrin the birth of a daughter was a misfortune. "You feed your
son for yourself. You feed your daughter for another man." Faced
with this mediaeval point of view the Diplomatic circle was struck
dumb. Till the British Consul said bravely: "I don't care what the
etiquette is! I won't condole with him." And the tension was
relieved.

No guns were fired, no candles lighted. Cetinje tried to look as
though nothing at all had happened.

One member of the Round Table at this time