And Caterna replied with truly Parisian unction: 

“I believe you, my boy!”

And we all changed.

It was four o’clock in the afternoon.  For people fatigued with three hundred and twelve hours of traveling, it was no time for running about the town—­what do I say?—­the four towns inclosed one within the other.  Besides, I had plenty of time.  I was going to stop some weeks in this capital.

The important thing was to find a hotel in which one could live passably.  From information received I was led to believe that the hotel of Ten Thousand Dreams, near the railway station, might be sufficiently in accord with Western notions.

As to Mademoiselle Klork, I will postpone my visit till to-morrow.  I will call on her before the box arrives, and even then I shall be too soon, for I shall take her the news of Kinko’s death.

Major Noltitz will remain in the same hotel as I do.  I have not to bid him farewell, nor have I to part with the Caternas, who are going to stay a fortnight before starting for Shanghai.  As to Pan-Chao and Dr. Tio-King, a carriage is waiting to take them to the yamen in which the young Chinaman’s family live.  But we shall see each other again.  Friends do not separate at a simple good-by, and the grip of the hand I gave him as he left the car will not be the last.

Mr. and Mrs. Ephrinell lose no time in leaving the station on business, which obliges them to find a hotel in the commercial quarter of the Chinese town.  But they do not leave without receiving my compliments.  Major Noltitz and I go up to this amiable couple, and the conventional politenesses are reciprocally exchanged.

“At last,” said I to Ephrinell, “the forty-two packages of Strong, Bulbul & Co. have come into port.  But it is a wonder the explosion of our engine did not smash your artificial teeth.”

“Just so,” said the American, “my teeth had a narrow escape.  What adventures they have had since we left Tiflis?  Decidedly this journey has been less monotonous than I expected.”

“And,” added the major, “you were married on the way—­unless I am mistaken!”

“Wait a bit!” replied the Yankee in a peculiar tone.  “Excuse me; we are in a hurry.”

“We will not keep you, Mr. Ephrinell,” I replied, “and to Mrs. Ephrinell and yourself allow us to say au revoir!”

“Au revoir!” replied the Americanized lady, rather more dryly at her arrival than at her departure.

Then, turning, she said: 

“I have no time to wait, Mr. Ephrinell.”

“Nor have I, Mrs. Ephrinell,” replied the Yankee.

Mr.!  Mrs.!  And not so long ago they were calling each other Fulk and Horatia.

And then, without taking each other’s arm, they walked out of the station.  I believe he turned to the right and she to the left; but that is their affair.

There remains my No. 8, Sir Francis Trevellyan, the silent personage, who has not said a word all through the piece—­I mean all through the journey.  I wanted to hear his voice, if it was only for one second.