The furniture of this little room is, of course, all “native.” The dinner-service comes from Kutahia, the carpets and rugs are Anatolian. On the walls hang jewelled swords and other trophies or souvenirs, sent in homage from Moslem rulers to the conqueror they all acknowledge. He may endeavour to efface himself, to glory in his simplicity and set up a real democracy; but the stamp of his personality is on the whole Moslem world; he holds in his hand the keys of Islam. Nationalism has now acquired a deep religious significance; the Pact is a “decalogue” none may deny. A well-known Turkish writer has boldly compared the movement with Christianity; humbly born, bringing suffering to all, death and martyrdom to many—for an Ideal of the Spirit no human enemy can crush. Who touches Turkey, with Right behind her, will set all Islam on fire to put down Might. [Illustration: Mustapha Kemal Pasha’s Sitting-room. ] In Egypt they speak of “Holy Angora,” and, wherever future assemblies may meet, she will be always sacred. An Egyptian princess, I notice, uses capitals when referring to the Ghazi Pasha as “He” or “Him.” If only the delegates at Lausanne could have managed to peep behind the scenes at Angora! If they still considered the Nationalist demands unreasonable, they could scarcely have failed to pause before the deep-rooted fanaticism they have inspired. * * * * * The Pasha is nothing if not frank. He has no time for bluff, though his pride was stung by the idle boasting of our ex-Premier: “You’ve got to speak to these people with guns.” No charge could be more ridiculous or untrue than to say that Mustapha Kemal is ever influenced by Camerad Areloff. Bolshevism and Nationalism are poles apart. Yet the Pasha could scarcely refuse invitations to conversation with any credited representative from a country like Russia; though no words of his are likely to change M. Kemal’s invariable habit of using his _own_ judgment and making up his _own_ mind. Though he seldom speaks without a practical purpose, I was honoured by an intimacy that nearly approached that of an old school friend. There were changes, however, to rather puzzling reserve, almost frigid politeness, in his case probably not caused by any reminder of my nationality. He knows not only whom, but when, to trust, and I suppose I had unwittingly opened some dangerous topic. * * * * *