"
"Ah, poves, poves, poves, poves," between every incident and also at the
final request for the medicine. He showed them to the door and suddenly
burst into unexpected English.
"Good naite, vairey good. I am your poppa."
In the hotel cafe we found two French aeroplanists, for four had arrived
that day, sailing down over the city, to the great terror of the
inhabitants. They seemed to be afflicted with the same idea as "Quel
Pays."
"Ah, monsieur et dame," said they, "quel pays."
We asked them how things were.
"We have just come from Prizren. The Serbs are in a dreadful condition.
All the roads are covered with starving and dying people. The troops are
eating dead horses and roots. There have been violent snow blizzards all
over the mountains. We saw some of your people, too, doctors and nurses,
they were going off to Ipek, 'dans une condition deplorable.' We came
across the mountains; one of us is lost. Awful country, nowhere to land
if anything went wrong and one of our machines has not arrived.
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