I forget whether Signor Buonfiglio made any remark, but a few hours later at Velaluka he was most incensed. As our boat--we had returned to the old _Porer_ at Komiža--sailed into the harbour a huge Yugoslav flag was flying from the summit of a hill, with French, British and American flags around it. The destroyer had arrived before us and the burly journalist was striding up and down the quay. "I protest," he exclaimed, as he saw us, "and not as a journalist but as an Italian citizen! I protest!" Between us and the front row of houses, which included the town-major's office, there was a large empty space--the inhabitants could be descried up the side-streets and behind the windows. De Michaelis, the town-major, was evidently a superior young man; as he poured out the champagne he told us with perfect frankness that the educated people at Velaluka were Yugoslavs. Suddenly there was a terrific noise just underneath us. We hurried downstairs and found that the soldiers in their excitement had fired off a machine gun into the wall. Half an hour later the firing could be heard from the top of the hill, but we never ascertained whether anyone was wounded. In this place the Italianist party sent to us an ex-publican who had now joined the police, a small trader and a municipal clerk who had recently been imported from Zadar. The Yugoslavs were a large landowner, a doctor and a priest, who told us that the people for the most part were refusing to accept gratuitous food from the Italians. ON THE WAY TO BLATO