We reached the Consul's house at seven o'clock, and went into the drawing-room with the Vice-Consul. The door of the dining-room was partly open, and I saw the sprained ankle laid out all over the side-board. I have never felt so hungry in my life. The Consul greeted us kindly. He was walking about; the ankle only confined him to the house. "How do you do, Mrs. Stobart? Would you like a biscuit?" I hoped at first that he was joking, but he was not. "Oh, yes," I answered, ready to cry with disappointment, "we're starving." Then he brought a tin of biscuits and some port wine. That was better. He gave us the biscuit tin to take with us, and he very kindly told the Vice-Consul to arrange for supper for us all in the train. As to money, we could have as much as we wanted; he had plenty. He gave us the sum for which we asked, sealed in an envelope; it was not worth while, he said, for us to count it. He was sure it was all right. I knew I ought to have counted it, but there was not much time to spare to catch our train; and when we opened the envelope, later, we found he had given us a thousand lire too much. Had it been a thousand lire too little, I should not have liked to write and tell him. My anxiety now was to obtain a railway pass. As it was Christmas Day, the Consul said he couldn't get an official pass. The Prefect couldn't be found; his ankle was more seriously sprained; we should have to take our chance. We should get to Bari, two hours distant, safely, and if we had trouble there, we must telegraph to the Consulate. Not a very encouraging prospect, especially as the Vice-Consul told us that another party had been kept for two days at Bari.