In the course of his wanderings Mr. MacGahan lighted upon the Khan’s harem, where his favourite Sultana and some other women still remained. As he was an American—or, rather, because they supposed him to be an Englishman—the ladies gave him a cordial reception, and entertained him to tea. They were eight in number: three were old and exceedingly ugly; three middle-aged or young, and moderately good looking; one was decidedly pretty; and the other whom Mr. MacGahan speaks of as the Sultana, was specially distinguished by her superior intelligence, her exquisite grace of movement, and her air of distinction. She wore a short jacket of green silk, embroidered with gold thread; a long chemise of red silk, fastened on the throat with an emerald, slightly open at the bosom, and reaching below the knees; wide trousers, fastened at the ankles; and embroidered boots. She had no turban, and her hair was curled around her well-shaped head in thick and glossy braids. Curious earrings, composed of many little pendants of pearls and turquoises, glanced from her ears, and round her wrists gleamed bracelets of solid silver, traced with gold. The chamber in which these ladies sat was ten feet wide, twenty long, and twelve high. Parts of the ceiling were embellished with coloured designs, rude in conception and execution. Against one side of the room were placed elegant shelves, supporting a choice assortment of the finest Chinese porcelain. The floor was strewn with carpets, cushions, coverlets, shawls, robes, and khalats, all in admired disorder, together with household utensils, arms, an English double-barrelled hunting rifle, empty cartridges, percussion caps, and—strange contrast!—two or three guitars. It was evident that preparations for flight had been begun, and the principal valuables already removed.