At that moment her husband entered, and I congratulated him upon the possession of such a beautiful wife. Then we all laughed together, and descended to the garden, where I was allowed to take photographs of her, veiled and unveiled, as well as of Pietro’s wife, who was, of course, much her senior, and who, although she had lost her youthful beauty, was still very charming. Returning again to the upstairs salon, we all sat round, while the newly-married beauty brought us first lemonade, then delicious Turkish coffee in tiny round cups upon a great gilt tray, followed by _rakhi_, that spirit so dear to the Turkish palate, and afterwards real _rahat-lakoum_, or Turkish delight. Then, after an interval, veiled again once more, the beautiful young woman brought me a cigarette and lit it for me, afterwards wishing me adieu and modestly retiring. All was done with such perfect grace and modesty as to create a most charming experience. It was, to say the least, novel, to sit there with those squatting Albanians and be waited upon by the prettiest girl in Skodra. Pietro told me that newspapers and books being forbidden, anyone found in possession of them was at once arrested. He, however, gave me surreptitiously a copy of the Rome _Tribuna_, which had been smuggled in a day or two before; and it was welcome, being the first newspaper I had had for several weeks. Truly Skodra is a strange place. I had occasion to go to the Turkish post office one day. It was, I found, a wooden shed. Inside was a low, filthy truckle bed, a small table—at which sat a consumptive youth in a fez—a broken chair and a large iron safe, the door being secured by a piece of string being tied about it! Of drainage there is none. Sewage runs down the centre of most of the streets, especially in the bazaar, and its odour is the reverse of pleasant on a sunny day. In the neighbourhood of butchers and slaughterers the gutters run with blood, which the dogs lap and enjoy, and near the stalls of fruiterers and vegetable-sellers the piles of refuse rot in the sun and decay. Yet everywhere, both in the streets of the Mohammedan quarter and in those of the Christians, are interesting sights at every turn. When night falls the place is dark and mysterious, for there are no lights save that issuing from the chinks of a door or from the windows of a barber or a coffee-seller. Through the windows of a mosque, perhaps, can be seen the swaying figures of Turks at prayer, faint in the dim oil lights, while in the blackness of the street the patrol passes, a dozen Turkish soldiers with loaded rifles, headed by one man carrying a lantern. The place is insecure after nightfall, even to the Scutarines themselves, therefore nobody ventures out, and by nine o’clock every house is bolted and barred.