When everyone had gone, M. Huc began: “Now,” said he to Ki-Chan, “you will understand why I wished to speak to you in private, and how important it is to you that no one should hear what I have to tell you. You will judge if we are dangerous men, we who fear even to injure our persecutors.” Ki-Chan was pale and disconcerted. “Let us hear,” said he; “explain yourself—let your words be candid and clear; what would you say?” “In your report, there is an inexactitude; you make me set out from Macao with my brother Joseph Gabet, and yet I did not enter China till four years after him.” “Oh, if that is all, it is easy to correct it.” “Yes, very easy. This report, you say, is for your Emperor; is it not so?” “Certainly.” “In that case, it is your duty to tell the Emperor the truth and nothing but the truth.” “Oh, nothing but the truth; let us correct the report. At what period did you enter China?” “In the twentieth year of Tao-Kouang (1840).” Ki-Chan took his pencil and wrote in the margin—twentieth year of Tao-Kouang. “What moon?” “The second moon.” Ki-Chan hearing us speak of the second moon, laid down his pencil and looked at us with a fixed stare. “Yes, I entered the Chinese empire in the twentieth year of Tao-Kouang, in the second moon; I passed through the province of Canton, of which you were at that time viceroy. Why do you not write? are you not to tell all the truth to the Emperor?” The face of Ki-Chan contracted. “Do you see now why I wished to talk to you in private?” “Yes, I know the Christians are good people—does anyone here know of this matter?” “No, not anyone.” Ki-Chan took the report, tore it up; he wrote a fresh one, entirely different from the first. The dates of our first entry into China were not exactly set forth, and there was a pompous eulogium on our knowledge and sanctity. The poor man had been simple enough to believe that we attached a great importance to his Emperor’s good opinion of us. In accordance with the orders of Ki-Chan, we were to set out after the festivals of the Thibetian new year. We had only been at Lha-Ssa two months, and we had already passed the new year twice, first the European new year, and then the Chinese; it was now the turn of the Thibetian. Although at Lha-Ssa, they reckon the year as in China, according to the lunar system, yet the calendars of these two countries do not agree: that of Lha-Ssa is always a month behind that of Peking. It is known that the Chinese, the Mongols, and most of the peoples of Eastern Asia, make use in their chronological calculations of a sexagenary cycle, composed of ten signs called trunks, and of twelve signs which bear the name of branches. Among the Tartars and Thibetians, the signs of the denary cycle are expressed by the names of the five elements repeated twice, or by the names of the five colours with their shades. The names of twelve animals denote the duodenary cycle.