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 river which we are descending, we see numerous black tents, yaks with pack-saddles, and some roomy white canvas tents. We refuse to halt, protesting that we do not understand what they say, as none of them speaks Chinese. Thereupon one of them, the lama, clad in yellow, whose features had already revealed to us his Chinese origin, proceeds immediately to address us in that language. "Stop, I beg of you," he urges; "beyond the pass you will find bitter water, no grass; it is a regular desert. You may believe me; if, however, you doubt my word, I will lend you my horse, and you can assure yourselves that I am speaking the truth."

My first thought was to accept this offer, and ask for two horses, to rejoin our camels which had gone on a little ahead during these negotiations; to order Rachmed to put up tea, sugar, bread, and meat for a week, and then to make with him for Lhassa. But this would have meant leaving our companions in a difficult position, and I quickly abandoned the idea, for this was no time for quitting the helm. At the very moment when these thoughts occurred to me one of our camels fell, never to rise again, and our last horse also fell, so we ordered the vanguard to draw back.

At the same time, escorted by horsemen, and very closely muffled, a mandarin with the blue button comes up, dismounts, and, raising the formidable glasses which shade his eyes, discloses to us a smooth face, intelligent and affable. Our interpreter presents him to us as the Amban himself, who wishes to greet us immediately on his arrival, and asks an audience for the morrow.

He then retires, leaving us to discuss matters with the lama (who speaks Chinese) and his interpreter. The latter is a Mongol, with a fat, jovial, smiling face, with thick lips, beyond which protrudes a very long tooth, giving him when he gapes—and he is always gaping—a good-natured appearance. He assures us that the Amban is a very good fellow, and that we shall be well satisfied when we come to discuss our affairs the next