some one who had done something very clever. We were
famished.

Suddenly half the cafe rose and rushed to a small counter almost hidden
in the gloom of the far end. Coffee can be got, said some one. Blease,
who could get out the easier, went to explore. In a short while he
wandered back saying that he had got a waiter. A man came through
selling apples. We bought some. At last the waiter came.

"Cafe au lait," said we.

"And bread," we added, as he turned away.

"Nema," he answered, looking back.

"Well eggs, then."

"Nema."

"What have you got?"

"We have nothing but meat."

"No potatoes?"

"No."

We got a sort of Serbian stew, the meat so tough that one had to saw the
morsels apart with a knife and bolt them whole. As we were operating, a
soldier leaned up against our table, and stared at our plates with a
wistful longing. Jo caught his eye. She scraped together all our
leavings; what misery we could have relieved, had we had money enough,
in Serbia then.

We paid our bill with a ten dinar (franc) note. The waiter fingered it a
moment.

"Haven't you any money?" he asked.

"That is money."

"Silver, I mean."

"No."

He hesitated a moment. Then went away, turning the note over in his
hands. After a while he returned and gave us our change.

The day passed in a queer sort of daze of doing things; between one act
and another there was no definite sequence. The town itself was in a
sort of suppressed twitter, everybody's movements seemed exaggerated,
the eager ones moved faster, impelled by a sort of fear; the slow ones
went slower, their feet dragging in a kind of despondency. At one time
we found ourselves clambering up some steps to the mayor's office, in
search of bread. By a window on the far side of the room was a man with
a pale face, eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and light hair:
Churchin. We ran to him.

"What are you doing here?" he said gloomily.

We explained.

"I don't think you can get any transport," he said; "but later I'll see
if I can do anything."

We thanked him. "But transport or no transport, we are going." Jan
showed him the bread order. He read it and pointed to the Nachanlik.

The Nachanlik read our order, scowled and passed it on to another man,
an officer. The officer read the order, looked us sulkily from head to
foot, then he pushed the paper back to us.

"We have only bread for soldiers."

"But--we are an English Mission."

"Only for soldiers here. W