The Governor and all the “notables” of Ouchak were on the platform as our luggage train arrived “in state.” When they invited us to stay the night, I accepted at once, without giving anyone else the chance to refuse. After three days and two nights on the road, I could not forego the luxury of a wash and a change of clothes, or the chance to brush and comb out my hair! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XI A PUBLIC MEETING AT OUCHAK—HOSPITALITY—A SACRED RITE AT Ouchak, I frankly declined to spend another night in a luggage train. I admired the Turks’ resourcefulness in coping with the extremely limited service of trains—the women inside a luggage-van and the men on the roof. I do not regret the fact that I have probably endured even more discomfort than other European visitors to Angora, since I have attempted and achieved more. But for the moment it seemed really essential to pause and rest. We were told they had only one private train car on _this_ side of the break in the line, which had been reserved for the Minister of Finance, whom we should probably soon meet. Engines were terribly “short,” and most of the trains had been burnt by Greeks. The Governor drove us to the house of one of the wealthiest men in the town, once the headquarters of King Constantine. Our host proved to be a mere lad of twenty, who was nevertheless directing a large carpet factory which had partially escaped destruction, with considerable efficiency and skill. Thanking us with graceful dignity for the honour of our visit, he gave immediate direction for our reception in his noble guest-chamber. He apologised for the bareness of rooms, rifled by Greeks; but, in my judgment, the rich and wonderful carpets were furniture enough. As M. Kemal Pasha had taken over the house from King Constantine, our host asked me, in joke, whose “bed” I would choose! I naturally at once replied M. Kemal’s. “Ah no,” said he, “you must not decide without seeing both.” Being always afraid of air-raids, the Greek sovereign had taken an underground suite, certainly arranged with great taste and every attention to creature comfort. Lit and heated by electricity, the arrangements closely resembled a German trench. M. Kemal Pasha had slept on the first, or top, floor, and as I like to think, under my white satin covering, worked with irises. It was a proud moment for our host—that _I_ should occupy a bed already honoured by M. Kemal! I told him how at Gerbervilliers Sœur Julie once let me sleep in a bed previously occupied by Cardinal X., and even conferred on me the supreme honour of using his Eminence’s sheet! That “last touch,” said my host, he, “unfortunately, could not repeat. The Pasha’s sheets!—well, they were not _here_.”