Every one having gone away, we resumed our accustomed solitude, and solitude inducing reflection, we discovered two important things. In the first place, that we had not yet dined, and in the second, that our horses were no longer in the stable. Whilst we were considering how to get something quickly cooked, and how to find where our horses were, we saw at the threshold of our door the governor of the Katchi, who relieved us from the double embarrassment. This excellent man having foreseen that our attendance at the court of inquiry would not allow us time to make our pot boil, came, followed by two servants carrying a basket of provisions, with an ovation he had prepared for us. “And our horses—can you give us any information about them? We no longer see them in the court?” “I was going to tell you about them; they have been since yesterday evening in the Regent’s stables. During your absence they have felt neither hunger nor thirst. I heard you say you intended to sell them—is it so?” “Oh, quite so, these animals ruin us; and yet they are so thin, no one will buy them.” “The Regent wants to buy them.” “The Regent!” “Yes, the Regent himself. Do not smile, it is no jest. How much do you want for them?” “Oh, whatever he likes to give.” “Well, then, your horses are purchased,” and so saying, the Cashmerian unrolled a small packet he had under his arm, and laid upon the table two silver ingots weighing ten ounces each. “Here,” said he, “is the price of your two horses.” We thought our beasts, worn and attenuated as they were, not worth the money, and we conscientiously said so to the governor of the Katchi; but it was impossible to modify the transaction which had been all settled and concluded beforehand. The Regent made out that our horses, although thin, were of an excellent breed, since they had not succumbed beneath the fatigues of our long journey. Besides, they had, in his eyes, a special value, because they had passed through many countries, and particularly because they had fed on the pastures of Kounboum, the native place of Tsong-Kaba. Twenty extra ounces of silver in our low purse was almost a fortune. We could be generous with it; so, on the spot, we took one of the ingots and placed it on Samdadchiemba’s knees. “This is for you,” we said; “you will be able with it to clothe yourself in holiday dress from head to foot.” Samdadchiemba thanked us coldly and awkwardly; then the muscles of his face became distended, his nostrils swelled, and his large mouth assumed a smile. At last, he could not restrain his joy; he rose and made his ingot leap in the air twice or thrice, crying, “This is a famous day!” And Samdadchiemba was right. This day, so sadly begun, had been fortunate beyond anything we could have expected. We had now, at Lha-Ssa, an honourable position, and we were to be allowed to labour freely in the propagation of the gospel.