ed our mysterious companion
without being able to see who was in it, and so to the hotel. Since the
morning we had driven fourteen hours, and we were glad beyond measure to
stretch and to find really comfortable beds.

The next day we got up early. There was much to do. We were to see the
War Minister about Scutari, to present a letter of introduction to the
English minister, and to inspect the town.

Nature has half filled a big crater with silt, and the Montenegrins
have half covered it with Cettinje.

It is a polychromatic village of little square houses, cheerfully
dreary, and one does not see its uses except to be out of the way. The
only building with any architectural beauty is the monastery where the
old bishops reigned, and which must have many a queer tale to tell.

Asking for the Count de Salis, the English minister, we were directed to
the diplomatic street, a collection of tiny houses grouped respectfully
in front of the Palace, which itself was no larger than a Park Lane
house laid edgeways, and with the paint peeling from its walls.

Over the front door of each little house a sort of barber's pole stuck
outwards, striped with the national colours of the minister living
within.

We noticed with pride and relief that the Count de Salis' pole was
painted a reticent white. The sympathetic old lady who opened the door
directed us to the Legation. There we found him inspecting the damages
wreaked by the storm of overnight. The Legation was big and cold, and as
the handsome fireplaces sent out by the British Board of Works were for
anthracite only (and Montenegro produces only wood), the English
minister preferred his warm cottage to the unheated Palace.

He wished us luck in our quest for Scutari, and asked us to tea. We
then hurried to an awful building where the governing of Montenegro was
done--a concrete erection, presented to Montenegro by the British
Government, and an exact imitation of one of our workhouses. Here we
found the Minister of War, a gorgeously dressed little man with a
pleasant grandfatherly gleam in his eye. He only spoke Serbian, but with
him was an unshaven young man whose chest was covered with gold
danglers, who immediately began to air his quite passable French. We
explained what we had been doing and what we wanted to do. The War
Minister had not heard of US from the Sirdar, who had been resting after
his terrific ride, but said that they were to see each other that day.
The l