It is not seldom a delicate task to put in motion the slowly revolving wheels of justice, and Colonel Czartoriski realised this as he sat smoking on the verandah of his Damascus hotel and laboured at the details of his plot. It was evident that he must not appear in connection with it, since the mention of his name would lead the world to infer the complicity of the Princess of Dardania; but he found it difficult to devise any means of inciting a crowd of unlettered fanatics to the requisite degree of hatred without communicating with them directly. After various fruitless attempts to solve the problem, he threw away his cigar and strolled out into the town, hoping that some chance sight or sound might give him the enlightenment he sought. He had scarcely left the shelter of the courtyard when the help he needed presented itself. Bumping and jolting over the alternate hillocks and hollows of the street came a carriage, in which sat a tall man with flowing black hair and beard. His dark robes, and the lofty head-dress which surmounted his stern features and piercing eyes, marked him as a bishop of the Orthodox Church. Two monks sat opposite him, so obviously in awe of his displeasure that even the discomforts of the drive evoked not the slightest murmur from either of them. “The very man!” murmured Colonel Czartoriski. “How could I have forgotten that Bishop Philaret had gone on pilgrimage?” The reverend travellers had only snatched a very brief rest at the Greek Convent, to which they were bound, when Colonel Czartoriski entreated the honour of an interview with the Bishop of Tatarjé. His request was granted at once, for the two men were old acquaintances. Bishop Philaret had brought the whole strength of the reactionary party in the Thracian Church to swell the forces of the Princess of Dardania when she had arranged the betrothal between her daughter and King Michael, which overthrew Cyril and restored M. Drakovics to office. In return for this signal service, it was commonly understood that when Archbishop Socrates, the Metropolitan of Thracia, should be gathered to his fathers, his successor in the see of Bellaviste would be the ambitious and able Bishop of Tatarjé. The recent events in Thracia had, of course, blurred this fair prospect, and the Bishop and Colonel Czartoriski met as fellow-sufferers by a common disaster. “If either her Royal Highness or I myself had been in Thracia, this would not have happened,” said the Bishop, as his attendant monks brought coffee and sweet jelly for the refreshment of the visitor. “It is a European misfortune,” observed Colonel Czartoriski gloomily.