"One has these impulses," he agreed. "But it is better not to give way to them. That is the advantage of my life as a rose-grower. There is always something to do. It is a tranquil and beautiful existence. One becomes almost a rose oneself. I hate to leave my fields, but my brother was killed in the last war, and I have to travel occasionally since his death. Ah, war! It is the sport of kings; yet our King Ferdinand is a great gardener. He is only happy with his plants. It is terrible that a small group of _arrivistes_ should deflect the whole course of our national life, for I'm sure that a gardener must loathe war." Sylvia thought of Philidor's denunciations of Englishmen who had found that the Bulgarians were idealists, and sympathized with their partiality when she listened to this gentle rose-grower. At last, about two o'clock in the morning, the train was allowed to proceed to Serbia. As it left the station the Bulgarian soldiers shouted: "Hourrah! Hourrah! Hourrah!" in accents between menace and triumph. She turned to her companion, with lifted eyebrows. "They don't sound very pastoral," she said. "Some Serbians in the train must have annoyed them," Rakoff explained. "Well, I hope for the sake of the Serbians that we're not merely shunting," Sylvia laughed. The train went more slowly than ever after they left Pirot, the first station in Serbia, where there had been an endless searching of half the passengers, of which, apparently, everybody had suddenly got tired, because the passengers in their portion of the train were not examined at all. "I doubt if this train will go beyond Nish," said Rakoff. "The Austrians are advancing more rapidly than was expected. There is a great feeling in Serbia against us. I shall travel back by sea from Salonika." They reached Nish at about seven o'clock in the morning. When Rakoff was standing outside the window of the compartment to help Sylvia with her luggage he was touched on the shoulder by a Serbian officer, who said something to him at which he started perceptibly. A moment later, however, he called out to Sylvia that he should be back in a moment and he would see her to the hotel. He waved his hand and passed on with the officer. Sylvia turned round to go out by the corridor, but was met in the entrance by another Serbian officer who asked her to keep her seat. "_Mais je suis Anglaise_," she protested. "No doubt there's some mistake," he answered, politely, in excellent English. "But I must request you to stay in the compartment." He seated himself and asked her permission to smoke. The passengers had all alighted and the train seemed very still. Presently another officer came and demanded her papers, which he took away with him. Half an hour went by and Sylvia began to feel hungry. She asked the officer in the compartment if it would be possible to get some coffee.