Awakened by this friend in need to the fact that the train was just about to start, Nadia insisted on helping her to carry her bundles, and was glad to establish herself on the seat next to her in the carriage, which was constructed on the American pattern. They were the only women present, but the men gathered together at the other end and talked among themselves, and Nadia’s friend arranged her parcels on the bench in front of her, and producing a covered brazier filled with hot charcoal, invited Nadia to put her feet upon it and make herself comfortable. She was a cheerful, talkative person, and beguiled the way with quaint legends relating to the hills and valleys they were passing--legends which would have been full of interest for her hearer if she had not been so tired. Her long walk, the close atmosphere of the train, and the monotonous voice of her companion, all combined to make Nadia overpoweringly sleepy, but she succeeded in dissembling the fact until an irresistible nod brought her head into sudden and violent contact with the good woman’s shoulder. “Have you heard the story of the young prince and his witch-mother?” the narrator was saying. “There was a learned gentleman from Bellaviste travelling in our parts this summer, who heard me telling it to the children, and he was so pleased with it that he wrote it all down, every word. But you are tired, poor thing! Lie down here, and take this bundle of mine for a pillow, and I will cover you with my cloak. No, don’t thank me. I have a daughter just your age. She is married, and lives at Bellaviste, and I am going to see her now for the first time since the wedding.” All the time she was talking she was busy arranging a comfortable place on the bench for Nadia, and then tucked her up in the most motherly way. The girl was deeply thankful to be allowed to rest, for mind and body were alike worn out. But the strain upon her was too great to permit of peaceful sleep, and she awoke at last with a start, shivering and trembling, to find her face wet with tears, and her friend laying a warning hand upon her shoulder. “I woke you because you began to scream,” she said. “You have been crying all the time you were asleep, and talking in a language I don’t understand, but I thought some of the men there might hear you if you spoke loud, and know what you were saying.” “Thank you,” said Nadia, sitting up and pushing back the hair from her face. “It was very kind of you to wake me, for I am in great trouble, and it might have done terrible harm if any one had understood what I said. I will tell you what I am doing here,” she went on, moved to confidence as she looked into the motherly eyes opposite her. “There is a friend of mine in great danger at Bellaviste, and I have information which may save his life if I can only get there in time.” “But you are not a Thracian?” “No, I come from the frontier, but my friend is in the Carlino regiment.”