It is ten o’clock when a stroke of the gong announces that the police formalities are about to begin.  We leave the table after a parting glass of Choa-Hing wine, and a few minutes afterward are in the waiting room.

All my numbers are present, with the exception, of course, of Kinko, who would have done honor to our breakfast if it had been possible for him to take part in it.  There was Doctor Tio-King, his Cornaro under his arm; Fulk Ephrinell and Miss Horatia Bluett, mingling their teeth and hair, figuratively, be it understood; Sir Francis Trevellyan, motionless and silent, intractable and stiff, smoking his cigar on the threshold; Faruskiar, accompanied by Ghangir; Russian, Turkoman, Chinese travelers—­in all from sixty to eighty persons.  Every one had in his turn to present himself at the table, which was occupied by two Celestials in uniform; a functionary speaking Russian fluently, an interpreter for German, French and English.

The Chinese was a man about fifty, with a bald head, a thick moustache, a long pigtail, and spectacles on his nose.  Wrapped in a flowery robe, fat as if he belonged to the most distinguished people in the country, he had not a prepossessing face.  After all, it was only a verification of our papers, and as ours were in order it did not much matter how repulsive he looked.

“What an air he has!” murmured Madame Caterna.

“The air of a Chinaman!” said her husband, “and frankly I do not want to have one like it.”

I am one of the first to present my passport, which bears the visas of the consul at Tiflis and the Russian authorities at Uzun-Ada.  The functionary looks at it attentively.  When you are dealing with a mandarin, you should always be on the lookout.  Nevertheless, the examination raises no difficulty, and the seal of the green dragon declares me all in order.

The same result with regard to the actor and actress.  Nevertheless it was worth while looking at Caterna while his papers were being examined.  He assumed the attitude of a criminal endeavoring to mollify a magistrate, he made the sheepiest of eyes, and smiled the most deprecating of smiles, and seemed to implore a grace or rather a favor, and yet the most obdurate of the Chinamen had not a word to say to him.

“Correct,” said the interpreter.

“Thank you, my prince!” replied Caterna, with the accent of a Paris street boy.

As to Ephrinell and Miss Bluett, they went through like a posted letter.  If an American commercial and an English ditto were not in order, who would be?  Uncle Sam and John Bull are one as far as that goes.

The other travelers, Russian and Turkoman, underwent examination without any difficulty arising.  Whether they were first-class or second-class, they had fulfilled the conditions required by the Chinese administration, which levies a rather heavy fee for each visa, payable in roubles, taels or sapeks.