the garden looks fresh and pretty. Beyond the
paling the tops of a couple of minarets can he
seen, shewing that there it a valley there, with
the little town in it. A few miles further the
Balkan mountains rise and shut in the view. Within
the garden the side of the house is seen on the
right, with a garden door reached by a little
flight of steps. On the left the stable yard, with
its gateway, encroaches on the garden. There are
fruit bushes along the paling and house, covered
with washing hung out to dry. A path runs by the
house, and rises by two steps at the corner where
it turns out of the right along the front. In the
middle a small table, with two bent wood chairs at
it, is laid for breakfast with Turkish coffee pot,
cups, rolls, etc.; but the cups have been used and
the bread broken. There is a wooden garden seat
against the wall on the left.

Louka, smoking a cigaret, is standing between the
table and the house, turning her back with angry
disdain on a man-servant who is lecturing her. He
is a middle-aged man of cool temperament and low
but clear and keen intelligence, with the
complacency of the servant who values himself on
his rank in servility, and the imperturbability of
the accurate calculator who has no illusions. He
wears a white Bulgarian costume jacket with
decorated harder, sash, wide knickerbockers, and
decorated gaiters. His head is shaved up to the