does not deter the
hotels from making the most exorbitant charges. Bucharest has always
been an expensive city but to-day the prices are fantastic. At Capsa's,
which is the most fashionable restaurant, it is difficult to get even a
modest lunch for two for less than twelve dollars. But, notwithstanding
the destruction of the nation's chief source of wealth, its oil wells,
by the Rumanians themselves, in order to prevent their use by the enemy,
and the systematic looting of the country by the invaders, there seems
to be no lack of money in Bucharest, for the restaurants are filled to
the doors nightly, there is a constant fusillade of champagne corks, and
in the various gardens, all of which have cabaret performances, the
popular dancers are showered with silver and notes. In fact, a customary
evening in Bucharest is not very far removed, in its gaiety and abandon,
from a New Year's Eve celebration in New York. Not even Paris can offer
a gayer night life than the Rumanian capital, for at the Jockey Club it
is no uncommon thing for 10,000 francs to change hands on the turn of a
card or a whirl of the roulette wheel; out the Chaussee Kisselew, at the
White City, the dance floor is crowded until daybreak with slender,
rather effeminate-looking officers in beautiful uniforms of green or
pale blue and superbly gowned and bejewelled women. Indeed, I doubt if
there is any city of its size in the world on whose streets one sees so
many _chic_ and beautiful women, though I might add that their jewels
are generally of a higher quality than their morals. As long as these
bewitching beauties behave themselves they are not molested by the
police, who seem to have an arrangement with the hotel managements
looking toward their control. When Mrs. Powell and I arrived at our
hotel the proprietor asked us for our passports, which, he explained,
must be vised by the police. The following morning my passport was
returned alone.

"But where is my wife's passport?" I demanded, for in Southern Europe in
these days it is impossible to travel even short distances without one's
papers.

"But M'sieu must know that we always retain the lady's passport until he
leaves," said the proprietor, with a knowing smile. "Then, should she
disappear with M'sieu's watch, or his money, or his jewels, she will not
be able to leave the city and the police can quickly arrest her. Yes,
it is the custom here. A neat idea, _hein_?"

Though I succeeded in obtaining