The evening in the Khalata desert, when, after having endured for two days the torments of thirst, I felt, with the last drop of water, my vital energies gradually ebbing away. Around me were lying many of my fellow-travellers, suffering, probably, as acutely as myself, to judge from their wild, haggard looks, and rigid features. Raising my heavy head with the greatest effort, I met the glance of those near me. They all seemed to be looking at me with expressions of bitter resentment, for during the afternoon I had heard the old ascetic, Kari Messud, repeat several times, "We are, alas! the propitiatory victims for some great evil-doer who is amongst us in our caravan." Possibly not one of them referred to me, but I felt, nevertheless, full of anxiety. Meanwhile the hour of evening prayer was approaching. Only a few could join in it. The sun was fast setting, and, as the last rays lit up the unhappy group of sufferers in that vast desert, I could not help casting a look towards the spot, where from the horizon he sent his last beams towards me,--that spot, which we call the west, the beloved west, which I had little hope to live to see the next morning again; and with unspeakable sadness I clung to the word 'west;' my half-exhausted senses revived anew, for with the word returned the thought of Europe, of my beloved home, my early departure from this world, the hard struggles of my past life, the wreck of all my aspirations, of all my pleasant hopes. My heart nearly broke with the burden of this great sorrow; I longed to weep, but could not. This moment is one of imperishable memory; the terror of that scene has impressed itself indelibly on my mind, and whenever my thoughts turn towards the Khalata desert it will rise and haunt me like a phantom. II. The next occasion was during my audience with the emir of Bokhara, in the palace of Samarkand. This prince, who had been represented to me as a person of doubtful character, had been severely examining my countenance as I sat by his side, in order to discover in me a Frenghi in disguise. The readers of my travels are already acquainted with a part of the conversation that took place between us. I hoped to gain him over to our interests, but it cost me a giant's effort not to betray by my countenance, and especially my eyes, the excitement within me; and, although I shook and trembled in every nerve, I was obliged to suppress even the slightest symptom of fear. An old adept in the part I played, I effectually succeeded in preventing a blush, or any change of colour, but I did not feel confident about the result. Let the reader realise my position, when the emir, after an audience of a quarter of an hour, called to him one of his servants, cautiously whispered something in his ear, and, motioning to me with a serious expression of countenance, ordered me to follow his attendant.