India 2001 books

Some one threw away a cigar-end. The wet road shining in
the glare of our pink candles, and the lightning flashing intermittently
so that the mountain-tops sprang out to disappear again in the darkness;
we felt as if we were living in the introduction of a mystery story from
the _Strand Magazine_.
At last in the misty rain we saw the aura of the lights of Cettinje. At
last we wound slowly into wet streets, passed our mysterious companion
without being able to see who was in it, and so to the hotel. Since the
morning we had driven fourteen hours, and we were glad beyond measure to
stretch and to find really comfortable beds.
The next day we got up early. There was much to do. We were to see the
War Minister about Scutari, to present a letter of introduction to the
English minister, and to inspect the town.
Nature has half filled a big crater with silt, and the Montenegrins
have half covered it with Cettinje.
It is a polychromatic village of little square houses, cheerfully
dreary, and one does not see its uses except to be out of the way.


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