“I’ve just had this letter from my sister in Serbia,” cried Miss Losanich, when a friend called, and she waved in one hand a dozen sheets closely written in a script that resembled Russian.  “I’ve hardly had time to read it myself.  But we will sit down and translate it into English, if you say.

“She says here that, when the Austrians had to leave Belgrade, they took 1,200 people as hostages—­non-combatants, you know.  When they came into the city first they gave assurances that all non-combatants would be safe; but for the last few days before they left, no non-combatant could walk on the street without being taken up as a hostage.

“Just imagine, it says here that they even took a little boy.  He can fight when he is older, they say.  You know, the Turks used to do that.  They came and took our boys of nine and ten years, and trained them as soldiers in their janissaries; and when they had forgotten their own country they sent them back to fight against it.  It is terrible, isn’t it!

“The Austrians took the furniture from our people’s houses and carried it across the River Save to the Semlin.  They behaved frightfully, my sister says; brought all kinds of people with them, including women from the very lowest class; broke into the houses and stole the ladies’ toilettes.  One lady with many beautiful dresses found them all cut to ribbons when she got back to Belgrade.

“The Austrians brought lots of tea and crackers and conserves with them.  Some soldiers had taken a lady’s evening gown and pinned strawberries from strawberry-jam all over it, in appropriate places, and laid the gown out for the lady to see.”

A merry smile illuminated Miss Losanich’s face as she read this part of the letter.

“Our brother,” she went on, “entered Belgrade with the army.  He came back to Nish on leave about Christmas, the Serbian Christmas, which is about thirteen days later than yours.  Nish is the temporary capital; and my sister is there.  He told them all about Belgrade.  He had been to his house; the whole house was upset, drawers forced, old letters opened and thrown on the floor, papers strewn about, King Peter’s picture (autographed by the King) thrown on the floor, and King Ferdinand’s picture stamped on.

“Brother went to a private sanitarium that our uncle has in Belgrade.  The Austrians had seized this, and had begun making it over for a hospital.  They wanted the Bulgarian Red Cross installed.  They had brought quantities of biscuits and tea and conserves.  But they had to leave in such a hurry they couldn’t take the things with them.  ’And now,’ my sister says, ‘we are eating them!’

“Across the street four of our cousins live—­young men.  They are all at the front now”—­Miss Losanich laughed outright as she read this part—­“their house was entered and all their clothes taken; dress suits, smoking jackets, linen, and all those things.  It makes me laugh; it’s naughty, I know.  But they used to go out a good deal.  I have seen them in those clothes so often.  One of them wanted to marry me.  He used to go out a great deal”—­this with another merry peal of laughter.