In his solemn walks through the various sections of the exhibition, where my modest frock-coat looked drab and out of place among the glittering uniforms, he was attended by the grand vizier, the only dignitary entitled, by the etiquette of the Persian court, to carry a cane in the presence of his sovereign, who himself always leant upon a stick made of some precious wood. He was invariably followed by a grave and attentive Persian carrying a hand-bag. This person puzzled me at first. His fellow-countrymen treated him with respect and addressed him in deferential tones. I had concluded from this that he filled some lofty function or other and felt the more justified in so thinking as the Shah from time to time made him a little sign, whereupon, promptly, all three--the Shah, the Persian and the hand-bag--disappeared for a few moments into a dark corner. However, I soon learnt that these mysterious meetings had no political significance: the Persian was merely a confidential body-servant; as for the hand-bag, it held simply the most homely and the most intimate of all the world's utensils and the Shah was frequently obliged to have recourse to it. This little drawback, however, did not damp his eagerness to know, to see and to buy things. He bought everything indifferently: musical instruments, old tapestries, a set of table-cutlery, a panorama, a "new-art" ring, a case of pistols. He looked, touched, weighed the thing in his hand and then, raising his forefinger, said, "_Je prends_," while the delighted exhibitor, greatly touched and impressed, took down the order and the address.