the cross, and recited,
aloud, our evening prayer. As soon as we commenced, the whispering
ceased, and a religious silence prevailed. When the prayer was finished,
we once more invited the crowd to leave us, and, in order to add efficacy
to our words, we extinguished the light. The crowd, thus plunged into
deep darkness, adopted the course of first having a hearty laugh, and
then retiring gropingly. We closed the door of our prison and laid down
to rest.

When stretched on the beds of the First Kalon, we felt much more disposed
to talk than to sleep. We experienced a certain pleasure in
recapitulating the adventures of the day. The feigned merchants who
wanted to purchase our saddles, our appearance before the Regent, the
examination we had undergone by the ambassador, Ki-Chan, our supper at
the expense of the public treasury, our long conversation with the
Regent: all this appeared to us a phantasmagoria. It seemed as though
our whole day had been a long nightmare. Our journey itself, our arrival
at Lha-Ssa, everything seemed incredible. We asked one another whether
it was true, that we, missionaries, Frenchmen, were really in the states
of the Tale-Lama, in the capital of Thibet, sleeping in the very palace
of the Regent. All these events, past and present, clashed in our heads.
The future, especially, appeared to us enveloped in dark, thick clouds.
How was all this to end? Would they say to us, "You are free; go
wherever you please?" Would they keep us in this prison? or would they
strangle us? These reflections were well calculated to chill the heart,
and to cause a head-ache. But trust in God is a grand thing in such
trials! How happy is one in feeling one's-self supported by Providence,
when one is thus left alone, abandoned, and destitute of succour. "Oh,"
said we to each other, "let us be prepared for the worst, relying upon
the protection of our Heavenly Father! Not a single hair will fall from
our heads without his permission."

We went to sleep amid these considerations, but our slumber was light and
disturbed. As soon as dawn appeared, the door of our cell was gently
opened, and the governor of the Katchi entered. He took a seat at our
side, between the two couches, and asked us in kind, affectionate tones,
whether we had spent a good night. He then presented to us a basket of
cakes, made by his family, and some dried fruits from Ladak. We were
deeply touched by this attention, which se