Meanwhile the governor had just heard of the attack on the train and of the part that our hero had taken in defence of the treasure, with what courage he had fought, and how he had delivered the country from the terrible Ki-Tsang.  And then in laudatory terms, which Pan-Chao translated to us, he thanked Faruskiar, complimented him, and gave him to understand that the Son of Heaven would reward him for his services.

The manager of the Grand Transasiatic listened with that tranquil air that distinguished him, not without impatience, as, I could clearly see.  Perhaps he felt himself superior to praises as well as recompenses, no matter from how great a height they might come.  In that I recognized all the Mongol pride.

But we need not wait.  The treasure van may remain here or go on to Pekin, but it makes no difference to us!  Our business is to visit Lan-Tcheou.

What we did briefly I will more briefly tell.

There is an outer town and an inner one.  No ruins this time.  A very lively city, population swarming like ants and very active, familiarized by the railway with the presence of strangers whom they do not follow about with indiscreet curiosity as they used to do.  Huge quarters occupy the right of the Hoang Ho, two kilometres wide.  This Hoang Ho is the yellow river, the famous yellow river, which, after a course of four thousand four hundred kilometres, pours its muddy waters into the Gulf of Petchili.

“Is not its mouth near Tien Tsin, where the baron thinks of catching the mail for Yokohama?” asks the major.

“That is so,” I reply.

“He will miss it,” says the actor.

“Unless he trots, our globe-trotter.”

“A donkey’s trot does not last long,” says Caterna, “and he will not catch the boat.”

“He will catch it if the train is no later,” said the major.  “We shall be at Tien Tsin on the 23d at six o’clock in the morning, and the steamer leaves at eleven.”

“Whether he misses the boat or not, my friends, do not let us miss our walk.”

A bridge of boats crosses the river, and the stream is so swift that the footway rises and falls like the waves of the sea.  Madame Caterna, who had ventured on it, began to turn pale.

“Caroline, Caroline,” said her husband, “you will be seasick!  Pull yourself together; pull yourself together!”

She “pulled herself together,” and we went up towards a pagoda which rises over the town.

Like all the monuments of this kind, the pagoda resembles a pile of dessert dishes placed one on the other, but the dishes are of graceful form, and if they are in Chinese porcelain it is not astonishing.

We get an outside view of a cannon foundry, a rifle factory, the workmen being natives.  Through a fine garden we reach the governor’s house, with a capricious assemblage of bridges, kiosks, fountains and doors like vases.  There are more pavilions and upturned roofs than there are trees and shady walks.  Then there are paths paved with bricks, among them the remains of the base of the Great Wall.