It was a windy day, and the candles, borne gingerly at arm’s length, sputtered, and spattered the gorgeous uniform and the ample frock-coat. The delegates at their divine duties, wore on their faces, I must say, most unholy expressions, and at the conclusion of the ceremony the poor old Christian with the fez presented the appearance of having eaten his supper without stuffing the end of a napkin in his collar. Religion and politics make an unhappy mixture; they war within one like custard and cucumbers. The presence of two unsympathetic newspaper correspondents, standing by at this ceremony, appeared to annoy the official party, and for some time after that ‘the two English correspondents’ (of whom I was one) were severely snubbed by the Austrian officers. An imaginary but effective barrier was thrown across the middle of the dinner-table, dividing the Englishmen and the Russians from the Austrians and the Jews, mostly Vienna correspondents. But there came a day when the latter, overwhelmed by curiosity, were forced to fraternise again. A strange female of daring demeanour, unheralded and alone, appeared at the hotel. Her species had never been seen before in Uskub. Her skirt was shockingly short, and contained a hip-pocket, from which the blued butt of a Colt’s 44 protruded. Her hat was a duplicate of mine, and all her other garments were more like a man’s than a woman’s. Fast on her heels arrived the ubiquitous policeman with his compliments and his veiled demands for information. She possessed a _teskeré_, and gave it to him, but he was not content with this, and would have her passport with its big red seal. ‘Not much, my fine feller! You can have Abdul’s rag all right, all right, but this here document belongs to your auntie.’ The gentle police understood her not. Nicola, the Albanian waiter, attempted to interpret. He spoke a little French, but this was of no avail. The Turk called in a miserable Christian (she must be Christian) who spoke, besides Turkish and Albanian, Bulgarian, Servian, Rumanian, and Greek, but not a word of any kind had he in common with the curious stranger. ‘Of what use are all my tongues!’ he exclaimed piteously, as he was kicked out by the Turk. One of the Russians offered his services. His accomplishments comprised all the languages of Europe, including English. No use. ‘The woman who speaks no human language,’ he called her; and the name clung to her. Nicola saw that the fearful female belonged to none of the known races, so when she appeared at dinner he seated her with ‘the English.’ She recognised me at once, and Austrians, Russians, Jews, and the Englishman, who hailed from Yorkshire, seeing that I was able to converse with the lady, at once made use of me to present their compliments and make gentle inquiries. The pragmatical Russian subsequently developed his witticism, and dubbed me the superhuman interpreter.