"I first went _via_ Trieste down the Adriatic to Cattaro and up to quaint little Cettinje, the town of one long street, where I had audience of Prince Nicholas of Montenegro, whom I had met twice before-- in my character of Reggie Martin, of course--and thence I went north to Servia, where I was received several times in private audience by King Peter. One day I arrived in Bulgaria to have confidential interviews with the Prime Minister Dimitri Petkoff, and the newly appointed Minister of Foreign Affairs. My orders from Downing Street, I may as well at once admit, were to ascertain whether Bulgaria intended to declare war against Turkey over Macedonia. The British Government was extremely anxious to ascertain Bulgaria's intentions, as well as the views of the other Balkan Powers, in order that the British policy towards the Porte might combat that of the expansion intrigues of Germany. "Our public at home have a perfectly erroneous idea of Bulgaria, believing it to be a semi-savage land. If, however, they went to Sofia they would find a fine modern city entirely up to date--a city that must in a few years become the Paris of the Balkans. "I had wandered along the wide tree-lined boulevards, idled outside the big white mosque, and strolled through the market alive with peasants in their sheepskins, and the girls with sequins and fresh flowers twined in their plaited hair, until it was time for me to keep my appointment with my friend the patriot Petkoff, Prime Minister. "Half an hour later I was conducted through the long corridor of the fine Government offices opposite the Sobranje, or Parliament House, and ushered into the presence of the real ruler of Bulgaria. "`Ah! _mon cher_ Martin,' he cried in French. `Welcome back to Sofia! They were talking of you in the Club last night. De Corvin was saying you were delayed in Belgrade. He met you there--at our Legation, so he told us. And you have your motor-car here--eh? Good. I'll go for a run with you,' and his Excellency put out his left hand in greeting. His right sleeve hung limp and empty, for he lost his arm in the Turco-Russian Campaign, at the historic battle of the Shipka. "Dark-eyed, dark-haired, with a pleasant face and a small pointed imperial on his chin, he was a wonderful orator and a magnificent statesman who had the full confidence of his sovereign. A dozen times had political plots, inspired by Russia, been formed to assassinate him. Indeed, he had actually been driving beside the great Stambouloff when the latter had been killed in the street. But he had always escaped. Under his direction, Bulgaria had risen to be the strong power of the Balkans, and as my personal friend I hoped that he would tell me, in strictest confidence, what was his future policy towards the Turk. "With that object I took the seat he offered me, and lighting cigarettes, we began to chat.