“Why, Nicholas,” I exclaimed, looking round the inn, “I have been here before. It is—it must be—the very place where, on my way up, I saw a famous wrestling-match. Did I ever tell you about it?”

 

“Never; but come along, I must finish one part of my duty here without delay by paying a visit. You can tell me about the wrestling-match as we walk together.”

 

I described the match with great interest, for my heart warmed towards the chief actor and his family, and as I proceeded with the narration I observed with some satisfaction that the road we were following led in the direction of the cottage of Dobri Petroff. As we drew near to the path that diverged to it I resolved, if possible, to give Nicholas, who was evidently interested in my narrative, a surprise by confronting him unexpectedly with the blacksmith and his family.

 

“Nicholas,” I said, “you see that cottage on the hillside? I have a great desire to pay its inmates a visit. Have you any objection to turn aside just for a few minutes?”

 

Nicholas gave me a look of surprise and laughed.

 

“None in the world, Jeff, for it happens that I particularly wish to visit the cottage myself.”

 

“You do? Why—what—”

 

“Well, finish your question, Jeff; why should it seem strange to you that I want to visit a Bulgarian family?”

 

“Why, because, Nick, this is the cottage of the very blacksmith about whom I have been speaking, and I wanted to give you a surprise by introducing him to you.”

 

“His name?” asked Nicholas quickly.

 

“Dobri Petroff.”

 

“The very man. How strange! You have already given me a surprise, Jeff, and will now add a pleasure and a service by introducing me to him, and, perhaps, by using your powers of suasion. It is no breach of confidence to tell you that part of my business here is to secure the services of this man as a guide over the Balkans, with the passes of which we have been told he is intimately acquainted. But it is said that he is a bold independent fellow, who may dislike and refuse the duty.”

 

“He won’t dislike it at all events,” said I. “He has no love for the Turks, who have treated him shamefully, just because of that same bold and independent spirit.”

 

“Well, come, we shall see,” rejoined my friend.

 

In a few minutes we had come to a turn in the path which brought the cottage full into view, and I experienced a sudden shock on observing that part of it—that part which had been the forge—was a blackened ruin. I was at the same moment relieved, however, by the sight of Ivanka and little Dobri, who were playing together in front of the uninjured part of the cottage.

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