In one place, where the path led up through two rocky walls, the sound of bells came wafted down below. The Czar, accosting a Tartar who was coming down the rocky path towards him, asked: "Where are those bells which are ringing?" "In St. George's Monastery," was the answer. "Who built a monastery in this wilderness?" "It is the former Temple of Diana. Among its ruins the black monks, who came here from Mount Athos, have settled." "So this is, then, the famous Temple of Diana in Tauris?" returned the Czar, suddenly recalling to memory the tradition of the lovely priestess of Artemis, Iphigenia, of whom poets from Euripides down to Goethe have sung. "And is this temple a monastery now?" The Czar never passed by a church without entering it. And here was an attraction over and beyond his yearning for the sacred building. It was a piece of historical antiquity, a relic of classic times, as well as a Christian asylum in a Mohammedan province. "How does one get to the monastery?" he asked the Tartar. "By a footpath which forks off from the ascent and leads round past the monastery to the regular path again. The horses would have to be sent on; the way can be only accomplished on foot. It is somewhat difficult to find. I could guide you." The Czar was now more than ever anxious to see it; so, alighting from his horse, he ascended the path with the guide to the Temple of Diana. It led through a thick forest. On either side picturesque groups of trees lined the way; wild vines festooned the branches, forming a green roof overhead, from which hung bunches of little round grapes, called in Tartar language "kacsi." Other fruit-bearing trees abounded; among them towered two thorn-bushes bearing plums--the one rosy red, the other waxen yellow. The yellow plum has a large stone; the red one grows in the form of a grape, like cherry-plums. "What do you call this fruit?" the Czar asked his guide. "The yellow is called 'alirek,' the red 'isziumirek.'" "Gather me some. I should like to taste them." The guide, hastily breaking off some blackberry leaves, formed them into a basket and filled it with red and yellow plums. The Czar was heated from the mountain ascent, and thirsty. The ripe, juicy fruit, with its pleasant acid, was very grateful to him. He left none. Only on returning the empty basket to his guide was he struck by something in the man's appearance. "Countryman, what peculiar green eyes you have!" "Yes, so people say. I have never seen my own eyes."