Salerno,
1782.

And this is the favorite reading of Dr. Tio-King! And that is why his
disrespectful pupil occasionally gives him the nickname of Cornaro!

I have not time to see anything else in this volume than _Abstinentia
adjicit vitam_; but this motto of the noble Venetian I have no
intention of putting in practice, at least at breakfast time.

There is no change in the order in which we sit down to table. I find
myself close to Major Noltitz, who is looking attentively at Faruskiar
and his companion, placed at the extremity of the table. We are asking
ourselves who this haughty Mongol could be.

"Ah!" said I, laughing at the thought which crossed my mind, "if that
is--"

"Who?" asked the major.

"The chief of the brigands, the famous Ki-Tsang."

"Have your joke, Monsieur Bombarnac, but under your breath, I advise
you!"

"You see, major, he would then be an interesting personage and worth a
long interview!"

We enjoyed our meal as we talked. The breakfast was excellent, the
provisions having come freshly on board at Askhabad and Douchak. For
drink we had tea, and Crimean wine, and Kazan beer; for meat we had
mutton cutlets and excellent preserves; for dessert a melon with pears
and grapes of the best quality.

After breakfast I went to smoke my cigar on the platform behind the
dining car. Caterna almost immediately joins me. Evidently the
estimable comedian has seized the opportunity to enter into
conversation with me.

His intelligent eyes, his smooth face, his cheeks accustomed to false
whiskers, his lips accustomed to false moustaches, his head accustomed
to wigs red, black, or gray, bald or hairy, according to his part,
everything denoted the actor made for the life of the boards. But he
had such an open, cheery face, such an honest look, so frank an
attitude, that he was evidently a really good fellow.

"Sir," said he to me, "are two Frenchmen going all the way from Baku to
Pekin without making each other's acquaintance?"

"Sir," I replied, "when I meet a compatriot--"

"Who is a Parisian--"

"And consequently a Frenchman twice over," I added, "I am only too glad
to shake hands with him! And so, Monsieur Caterna--"

"You know my name?"

"As you know mine, I am sure."

"Of course, Monsieur Claudius Bombarnac, correspondent of the
_Twentieth Century_."

"At your service, believe me."

"A thousand thanks, Monsieur Bombarnac, and eve