The Piazza: Ragusa.
I replied that I intended to make the attempt.
“Well, then, I wish you buon viaggio,” he laughed. “May every good luck attend you, and—as we say in Montenegro—S’bogom! (God be with you!) When you return—for I suppose you will pass this way down to the sea—come and see me, and tell me all about the Skreli and Kastrati country—for of course I am highly interested. They are always at war with our people on the frontier.”
“I will let your Royal Highness know the moment I am back in Cettinje,” I promised.
Then rising, he gripped my hand warmly, saying—
“Then I will help you if I can. Be careful of yourself, for I shall be anxious about you. Again, S’bogom!”
And the Prince accompanied me to the head of the grand staircase, where I made my obeisance, turned and descended through the rows of armed and bowing servants ranged in the hall, charmed by His Royal Highness’s graciousness towards me and by the pleasant chat I had enjoyed.
When, after my journey through Northern Albania, I one afternoon re-entered that audience-chamber, and he came forward with outstretched hand to greet me, he exclaimed—
“Well, well! I am so glad to see you back safe and sound. You look a little thinner in the face—a little travel-worn—eh? Life in the Albanian mountains is not like your life in London or Paris, is it? But never mind as long as you are safe,” he laughed, placing his hand kindly upon my shoulder. “Come along to this room. It is more cosy,” and he led me to the smaller apartment, his own private cabinet.