It turned out that he had a room to let for 1.50 per night with two beds in it; it was large and very clean, so, to avoid walking about trying to find something better, I told him that I would take it. But it was more easily said than done. “You must go to the Questura (the police) and get their permission to stay in Udine before I can let you have it,” he told us. This was a bit awkward, but there was no help for it but to go at once and get the ordeal over, so we made our way at once to the police station. We had to pass through a main street, and I realised at once that Udine, although the “Front” and the Headquarters of the Army, was only a small Italian garrison town, with perhaps more soldiers about than there would have been in normal times. Considering how close it was at that moment to the actual opening operations of the war, it was distinctly disappointing from my point of view, considering I was looking for military subjects. In this respect it was even less interesting than many of the French towns such as, for instance, Epinal or Langres, I had been in during the early days shortly after the commencement of hostilities. This was my first impression of Udine—I had reason to modify it considerably in a very short time, in fact during the first day I was there. The echo of the big guns convinced me that although life in Udine was outwardly normal, the war was very near indeed. At the Questura, to my surprise, the Commissaire made but little difficulty in giving me a _permis de séjour_, on seeing my passport and my last _permis_ from Venice, and on my guide explaining that I might be remaining some little time, he readily made it out for one month. As I came away I could not help wondering why it should have been so easy for me to obtain this permission to remain in Udine when Barzini had been arrested and sent away a couple of days previously. I had yet to learn that in the War Zone the civil authorities and the local police take a very back seat, and that the _permis de séjour_ I had just been given would prove of no value whatever if the Carabinieri—_i.e._, the military police—took exception to my being in Udine. Fortunately I did not learn this until some days later, and in the meantime, confident in the possession of my police permit, I had no hesitation in walking about the town freely. The sound of the big guns, however, which one heard unceasingly, soon began to exercise the curious fascination over me that they always have, and I was not long making up my mind that I must lose no time in Udine. It was a delightfully quaint old town, with cafés and restaurants, and altogether a pleasant place to spend a few days in, but this was not what I had come for. So I immediately set about making enquiries for the quarters of the “Military Commandant of Udine” in order to present my letter from the Consul, and ask for permission to go out to the scene of operations.