At four o'clock in the morning an automobile set out from the dock, carrying a squad of twelve marine fusilliers under the command of one of the ship's lieutenants. A half hour later he presented himself at the gate of the palace and demanded that he be admitted. There was no response. He was insistent. Finally a door opened and an angry voice cried out in the darkness: "This isn't the time for visitors." For the owner, who found that there are no such things as small profits, permitted a visit for the sum of two francs per person. Surprised, the occupant of the palace submitted, and our detachment entered _Achilleion_, whose occupants it assembled--the watchman and two red-haired chambermaids--_en deshabille_, also a mechanic and an entomologist who wore spectacles. Pale with fear, the latter threw himself on his knees before the officer. "If I must die, I ask that it may be here," said he. He was left in peace. A company of the Chasseurs arrived and the marines, with their lanterns in their hands, went back to the ships. The Tricolor floated over the Kaiser's villa, which was to become a hospital for the Serbs. * * * * * At eleven o'clock in the morning it was all over, and the French cruisers put out to sea on the return trip to Bizerta. But the easiest thing had been done. The most difficult was about to begin. It was not only a question of occupying Corfu; it was also a matter of arranging to receive a worn-out and decimated army. It was a difficult task that many would have judged out of the question. Everything was lacking; there was nothing on hand. A writer on naval matters, who has been the historian of the French Navy in this war, M. Emile Vedel, has painted in the pages of _Illustration_ an unheard-of and unique picture of what this preparation of Corfu consisted: