seemed to be a man of some education and knowledge of the world. He greeted us easily and without embarrassment, and when we had all taken seats he listened with an impassive countenance to the ingenious but highly colored story into which Khainúief translated my modest account of ourselves, our plans, and our object in coming to the lamasery. Whether he believed it all or not I have no means of knowing; but from the subsequent course of events, and from statements made to me in Selengínsk after our return from Kiákhta, I am inclined to believe that Khainúief's diplomacy — not to give it a harsher name — was crowned with success. The bright-witted interpreter certainly played his part to perfection, and he even had the cool assurance to make me say to the Grand Lama that Governor Petróf in Irkútsk had particularly recommended him (Khainúief) to me as a valuable and trustworthy man, and that it was at the request of the governor that he came with us to the lamasery. The modest, deprecatory way in which he twisted into this form my innocent statement that Governor Petróf had sent a telegram about us to the authorities in the Trans-Baikál should have entitled the wily chief of police of Selengínsk to a high place among the great histrionic artists.
After we had drunk tea, which was served from a samovár in Russian style, I asked Khambá Lamá whether we should be permitted to inspect the temple. He replied that as soon as he had heard — through Khainúief of course — that such distinguished guests had come to call upon him he had given orders for a short thanksgiving service in the temple in order that we might see it. He regretted that he could not participate in this service himself, on account of recent illness; but Khainúief would go with us and see that we were provided with seats. We then saluted each other with profound bows, the Grand Lama withdrew to his own apartment, and Khainúief, Mr. Frost, and I set out for the temple.
