“I have here a letter purporting to be from you. I notice that it is not dated.” “Confound your impudence,” I thought, but I said nothing; I bowed. “You know,” said he, approaching nearer and altering his manner, “that this Armenian fellow cannot speak English, you had very much better----” “Who asked for your advice, sir!” I said, turning on him suddenly. “His Highness ordered you to enquire whether that letter were mine or not.” This was a shot, for when His Highness spoke, I understood only two words, “letter” and “doctor.” The engineer appeared startled, and he said:-- “A learned man like yourself, the most scientific in Afghanistan, and one on whose shoulders a grave responsibility rests, should have his words translated exact in every detail. If you expressed a wish to that effect, I am sure His Highness would engage from India at a large salary, an interpreter----” At it again, I thought. “That is my letter, sir. Inform His Highness.” There appeared nothing more to be said, and he turned to the Amîr and addressed him in Persian. [Sidenote: A Courtier’s Influence.] Then His Highness burst forth. I did not understand his words, but there was no mistaking his manner--the knitted brow, the flashing eye and the low rumble, lashing up to a roar. The storm descended upon the heads of the two Hindustanis. They stood shivering, and from yellow became green. _They_ knew, and I afterwards had frequent opportunities of observing, that in moments like this the Amîr is dangerous; men’s lives tremble in the balance. A clever man who has the entrée of the Durbar, and who happens to be in favour, may sometimes on these occasions, by dropping a word here and edging in a sentence there, gradually turn the current of the Amîr’s thought. If he can also by some appropriate witticism bring about a relaxation of the muscles of that grim face, causing a smile or perhaps a laugh, then a man’s life is saved. They, however, more often employ their wits in adding fuel to the fire. The Hindustanis crept away, and I was about to bow and retire, when His Highness signed to me to stop. I was then informed that breakfast was prepared under the almond trees in the garden, and His Highness desired my company. This was the first occasion on which the Amîr showed me any act of familiar kindness, and my relief from suspense was such, that in attempting to describe the breakfast I can hardly do full justice to the situation. The air was balmy, as we sat in the shade of the blossoming trees. Sweet-scented flowers were at our feet, and I sat sipping tea and munching macaroons in the luxurious enjoyment of living. The Armenian stood silently behind my chair, and I fancy he too, though in a more realistic sense than I, felt the luxurious enjoyment that mere life could afford.