rently already knew something and were making their
conjectures, for the secretary went up to him and said with an
ironical smile:

"It is the custom of the Pcrsians when an illustrious visitor comes
to visit you, you must slaughter a sheep with your own hands."

And a little later an envelope that had come by post was handed to
him. The mayor tore it open and saw a caricature in it. It was a
drawing of Rahat-Helam with the mayor on his knees before him,
stretching out his hands and saying:

"To prove our Russian friendship
For Persia's mighty realm,
And show respect for you, her envoy,
Myself I'd slaughter like a lamb,
But, pardon me, for I'm a--donkey!"

The mayor was conscious of an unpleasant feeling like a gnawing in
the pit of the stomach, but not for long. By midday he was again
with the illustrious Persian, again he was regaling him and showing
him the points of interest in the town. Again he led him to the
stone gates, and again pointed to the lion, to the sun and to his
own breast. They dined at the 'Japan'; after dinner, with cigars
in their teeth, both, flushed and blissful, again mounted the fire
tower, and the mayor, evidently wishing to entertain the visitor
with an unusual spectacle, shouted from the top to a sentry walking
below:

"Sound the alarm!"

But the alarm was not sounded as the firemen were at the baths at
the moment.

They supped at the 'London' and, after supper, the Persian departed.
When he saw him off, Stepan Ivanovitch kissed him three times after
the Russian fashion, and even grew tearful. And when the train
started, he shouted:

"Give our greeting to Persia! Tell her that we love her!"

A year and four months had passed. There was a bitter frost,
thirty-five degrees, and a piercing wind was blowing. Stepan
Ivanovitch was walking along the street with his fur coat thrown
open over his chest, and he was annoyed that he met no one to see
the Lion and the Sun upon his breast. He walked about like this
till evening with his fur coat open, was chilled to the bone, and
at night tossed from side to side and could not get to sleep.

He felt heavy at heart.

There was a burning sensation inside him, and his heart throbbed
uneasily; he had a longing now to get a Serbian order. It was a
painful, passionate longing.

A DAUGHTER OF ALBION

A FINE carriage with rubber tyres, a fat coachman, and velvet on
the seats,