“Well, well! I am so glad to see you back safe and sound. You look a little thinner in the face—a little travel-worn—eh? Life in the Albanian mountains is not like your life in London or Paris, is it? But never mind as long as you are safe,” he laughed, placing his hand kindly upon my shoulder. “Come along to this room. It is more cosy,” and he led me to the smaller apartment, his own private cabinet. For nearly two hours I sat relating to him what occurred on my journey, and describing the wild country which had, until then, been practically a sealed book. Even though Cettinje is so near, hardly anything was known of the Skreli, the Hoti, the Klementi, or the Kastrati tribes, save that they were brigandish bands who constantly raided the Montenegrin frontier. The Prince listened to me with great attention, and put many questions to me as we smoked together. Then rising, he took from a drawer in his great writing-table a small scarlet box, and as he opened it he bestowed upon me a compliment undeserved, for he said— “There are few men who would have risked what you have done. Therefore I wish to invest you with our Order of Danilo, as a mark of my appreciation and esteem.” And he displayed to me the beautiful dark blue and white enamelled cross of the Order, the same that he was wearing at his throat, surmounted by the royal crown and suspended upon the white ribbon edged with cerise. After he had invested me with the Order, saying many kind things to me, which I really don’t think I deserved, he added— “The _chef du chancellerie_ will send you the diploma in due course, and I trust, when you petition your own gracious Sovereign King Edward, that His Majesty will allow you to wear this insignia.” I thanked His Royal Highness, gripped his hand, and a few minutes later passed through the line of bowing servants out of the Palace. And that same evening I received from His Royal Highness the signed photograph which appears in these pages. Before I left Cettinje I received the following expressive lines, written especially for me by a Montenegrin poet who is a great personage, but whose name he would not permit me to give. They are in Servian as follows, and I have placed their English translation below:— S’ veledušnog Albiona Pružiše se dvije ruke Crnoj Gori da pomogu U junačke njene muke S’ vrućom rječu na ustima Gladston diže Crnogorce A Tenison za najprve U svijet ih broi borce Na glas svoih Velikana Britanski se narod trže Da pomože da zaštiti Crnu Goru iz najbrže Posla svoje bojne ladje Što na tečnost gospostvuju Veledušno da zaštite Domovinu milu Moju