litter which surrounded them.  There was hardly a sentry or a picquet to be seen, only a hundred of little camp-fires twinkling and twinkling everywhere.  Such battalions and units as had pushed in had bivouacked exactly where they had halted.  Far away under the Tartar Wall, on the long, sandy stretches, there were little wood fires blazing at regular intervals, with countless dots moving around.  From a hundred other places there came that confused murmur which, speaks of masses of men and animals.  There were faint cries, hoarse calls, and orders, with always a vague undercurrent trembling in the air.  For the time being, they were only British and American troops—­not a soldier of a single other nationality had been seen.  As the hours went, other people, whose troops had not come in, began making excuses, and pretending that their generals were very wise in acting as they had done.  There were all sorts of theories.  Some said that they were securing all the gates of the city, and capturing the Court, and seeing to very important things.  It was the political situation of three months ago being suddenly reborn, reincarnated, by all these people, before we had even breathed the air of freedom.  It was for this that we had been rescued by the main body of the troops:  merely because had we been all killed and all recent Peking history made an utter blank, there would have been a terrible gulf which no protocols could bridge.  It would have meant an end, an absolute end, such as governments and their distinguished servants do not really love.  We were mere puppets, whose rescue would set everything merrily dancing again—­marionettes made the sport of mad events.  We had merely saved diplomacy from an impossible situation....

As I stood there in the night, thinking of these things, and trying to escape from people with theories, a faint cheering arose, a hurrahing which somehow had but little vigour.  I knew what it meant; the ground was being noisily cleared right up to the Palace walls, to make sure that none of the enemy were lurking in the ruins, and that the play could begin merrily on the morrow.  After that cheering came a few dull explosions, the blowing-up of a few unnecessary walls, and then all was dead quiet again, excepting for the faint stirring of the soldiery encamped around us, which never ceased.  There was not a volley, not a shot.  It was all over, this siege, everything was finished.

With a growing blackness and distress in my heart, which I could not explain, and sought in vain to disguise, I wandered about.  I wanted some more movement—­some fresh distraction to tear my attention away from gloomy thoughts.

Near the battered Hotel de Pekin officers who had strayed from their commands and who were hungry had already gathered, and were paying in gold for anything they could buy.  Luckily, there were a few cases of champagne left and a few tins of potted things, which could now be tranquilly sold.  I found some French uniforms.  Some officers had at last come in from the French commander, saying that at daylight the French columns would march in.  At present they were too exhausted to move.