We got more letters urging us to return.  Our studios in Paris and all our work of the last eight years seemed in danger of being sold up.  So Jan went once more to the Chief.  He asked us to stay until at least the first batch of wounded arrived, for none of the others had had experience of the receiving arrangements, and of the disinfecting.  We moved our beds and baggage to the school, which Jo was to take over as a convalescent hospital.

By the way, one of our doctors had a queer soothsaying experience.  She was told that she was one day going to a foreign country with an S in the name.  She would be quite safe in her first job, but that she would be offered a post in a large grey building from which if she accepted she might not escape alive, but in any case would be flying for her life, and that she and all her companions would suffer great hardships and sleep on dirty straw in awful places.  She was offered a job at the Farmers’ hospital in Belgrade.  She refused.  It is a great grey building, and we now heard that Belgrade was being violently bombarded and all had to escape.  Rumours came of great German attacks on Shabatz and Obrenovatz.

The next day Serbian refugees arrived from Belgrade itself:  they said that the town was in flames and that fierce fighting was taking place in the streets.  Posheravatz was deserted, and a great battle was raging about its outskirts.  There were reports that the King of Bulgaria had abdicated and that the Germans at Chabatz had been defeated, leaving 8000 prisoners in Serbian hands.  Neuhat came to Jan in great glee.

“We have captured a German major,” he said, “and he says that never was there a soldier like the Serb.  He has fought English and French and Russians, but he says our troops are the most wonderful of all.”

“Jolly sensible chap,” said Jan.  “I’d say the same myself if I was a prisoner.”

Major Gaschitch told Dr. Berry that if the Serbian army retreated we were to retreat with them.  Blease and Jan got hard at work putting rope handles to the packing-cases and labelling them for special purposes.  One of our lady doctors was valued in the morning.  In the outpatient department a question arose about marriage.  A Serb patient said—­

“I can marry any time I like.  Pah!  In Serbia one can get two maidens for twopence, and three widows for a mariasch (1/2_d._).”

Everybody was now running about with maps, violently explaining the situation to everybody else, and all explaining differently.  Major Gaschitch had fixed Novi Bazar as our probable haven, and Mr. Berry borrowed our map to see if there were a direct road over Gotch mountain, and suggested that Jan might get a horse and ride over to see.  Alas, only a fourth-class road was marked, and heaven knows what that may be like:  lots of country and choose for yourself probably.  A woman was brought in with what she said was a bullet through the breast; it occurred during the celebration of the marriage ceremony, which lasted a week.  The girl was brought by her father, the bridegroom having rushed off to the church to pray.  The wound looked very like a dagger thrust.