“Well, gospodin. What would you have done had your own brother died a dog’s death? I took a rifle, and within a week the murderer was in his grave. I shot him through the heart—and then I left Scutari.” “And you are safe here, in Montenegro?” “Safe! Oh dear, no,” he answered. “One day—it may be to-day—the fellow’s brother will kill me. He must kill me. It is Fate—why worry about it? It does one no good.” And the marked man, the man doomed to die at a moment when he least expects it, rolled a cigarette and lit it with perfect resignment. “And are you not afraid to go with me back to Scutari?” I asked, amazed at his fearlessness. “Afraid, gospodin!” he exclaimed, looking at me in reproach as his hand instinctively wandered to his weapon. “Afraid! No Albanian is afraid of the blood-feud. I have killed the murderer, and his brother must kill me. It is our law.” And the doomed man smiled gravely. “And the girl?” I asked. “Ah! They are all the same,” he answered, with a quick shrug of the shoulders. “A month ago she married a tobacco-seller—a man old enough to be her father. Poor Tef! If he could but know!” “And the blood-feud still continues?” “Of course—until I am dead.” Then Palok smoked on in silence, entirely resigned to the fate that awaits him. He knows that one day, as he walks along the road, the sharp crack of a hidden rifle will sound, and he will fall to earth, another victim of a woman’s fickleness. _S’bogom!_—God be with you! [Illustration: HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE NICHOLAS OF MONTENEGRO.] CHAPTER II AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS The Palace at Cettinje—A cigarette with the Prince—The policy of Montenegro—A confidential chat—His Royal Highness’s admiration for England—His views upon Macedonia—He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania, but I persuade him to help me—His Highness’s kindness—Souvenirs. “His Royal Highness the Prince will be pleased to grant you private audience at four o’clock this afternoon, gospodin.” The tall, burly aide-de-camp in the little round cap, high boots, pale blue overcoat, and pistols in his belt, saluted, and we shook hands. It was then three o’clock, and I was just about to go out to visit Madame Constantinovitch, the mother of Princess Mirko. So I had to return at once to my room and dress for the audience. The kings and princes of the Balkans have a habit of summoning one at a moment’s notice, and paying visits at unearthly hours. Here, in Cettinje, in the heart of these wild, desolate fastnesses, one seems so far removed from European influence, yet how great a part has this rocky, impregnable country, with its fierce soldier-inhabitants, played in the politics of Eastern Europe, and how great a part it is still destined to play in the near future!