The next day, Ki-Chan sent for us in order to communicate to us a report he had drawn up on the subject of our affairs; and which he proposed to lay before the Emperor. “I did not wish,” said he, “to let it go without reading it to you previously, for fear there should have escaped me in it any expressions inexact in themselves or distasteful to you.” Having attained his chief object, Ki-Chan had resumed his amiable and conciliatory manner towards us. His report was unmeaning enough; what it said about us was neither good nor bad; it simply set forth a dry nomenclature of the countries we had passed through, since our departure from Macao. “Is this report as you like it?” said Ki-Chan; “do you see anything in it to alter?” M. Huc answered, that he had an observation to make of great importance. “Speak, I listen.” “What I have to say to you, does not interest us in the least; but it affects you very nearly.” “Let us hear what it is.” “My communication must be private: let your people withdraw.” “These men are my servants; they all belong to my household; fear nothing.” “Oh, it is not we who have anything to fear; all the danger is to you.” “The danger to me! No matter, the officers of my suite may hear all.” “If you will, you can repeat to them what I have to say; but I cannot speak in their presence.” “Mandarins cannot hold secret conversations with strangers; it is forbidden by the laws.” “In that case, I have nothing to tell you; send the report just as it is; but if it brings misfortune upon you, only blame yourself.” The Chinese ambassador became pensive; he took infinite pinches of snuff, one after another, and then, as the result of long reflection, told his suite to retire, and to leave us alone with him.