Through the good offices of the Prince’s secretary, to whom His Highness had confided us, we were provided with tickets, which was lucky for us, for when we arrived within sight of the court-house we found a cordon of soldiers guarding it. We were stopped and our passes examined before we were allowed to proceed. When we reached our destination, a long, low, grey stone building with the Montenegrin two-headed eagle over the door, an officer took us in hand and led us with ceremony to our places. I looked round me with great satisfaction from my red velvet arm-chair in the ranks of the Diplomatic Corps. Not only was I the only English person there save one, but I was the only woman in the whole place. It was the most thrilling trial I have ever witnessed. At the top of the room, behind a long table beneath the picture of Prince Nicholas, sat the nine judges, all save one in the most gorgeous national costume: long coats of pale green cloth, heavily braided, with waistcoats of vivid carnation red, crossing over to one side and covered with beautiful gold embroidery. Baggy breeches of ultramarine blue and smart top-boots continued the gay effect, which was completed by a bulky sash of striped and gold silk wound round the waist, and containing an assortment of daggers and revolvers; for a good Montenegrin would as soon think of coming out without them as an Englishman without his collar. In the middle sat the President, a person of extreme distinction and great dignity, who conducted the proceedings in an irreproachable manner. A small table stood before him, on which a pair of high tapers were placed, and between them was a copy of the Gospels, bound in red velvet and gold metal-work, and a crucifix. On his left hand sat a Mohammedan judge, with red Turkish fez and simpler costume than that of the Montenegrins; and on his right the bombs were all set out on a little table as evidence, guarded by an immense soldier about six-foot-six in height and of a forbidding aspect. It gave one a certain creepy sensation to see, only a few feet away, enough of these infernal machines to send the whole of the court-house into the clouds, and to know that close by were thirty-two desperate men who would stick at no kind of devilry. The bombs were little square flasks of grey metal with screw tops, almost like the fittings of a common dressing-bag or luncheon hamper, and certainly did not betray by their appearance what terrible things they really were. For these particular bombs were manufactured in a very ingenious fashion, and were enough to make an Anarchist tear his hair with envy. At the foot of the table was the black bag in which the infernal machines had been smuggled over the frontier.