I had to tear myself away from the wilderness and I was soon once more steaming up the Lake of Scutari to Rijeka.
CHAPTER TEN.
MURDER WILL OUT
I ARRIVED in Cetinje with a Turkish trooper's saddle and a pair of saddle-bags that contained some flintlock pistols and some beautiful ostrich feathers given me by the Mutasarrif of Elbasan and not much else but rags.
The news that I had come right through Albania excited Cetinje vastly. Every English tourist who wanted to go to Scutari was warned by the Montenegrins that it was death to walk outside the town; that murders took place every day in the bazar; any absurd tale, in fact, to blacken the Albanians. The Montenegrins were not best pleased at my exploit, and full of curiosity.
I patched my elbows, clipped the ragged edge of my best skirt, and was then told by Vuko Vuletitch that the Marshal of the Court was waiting below to speak with me.
I descended and found the gentleman in full dress. It was a feast day.
We greeted one another.
"His Royal Highness the Prince wishes to speak with you!" said he with much flourish. "He requests you will name an hour when it is convenient for you to come to the Palace."
It was the first time the Prince had noticed me, I was highly amused, and replied: