eparted; the sky was clouded, and the wind blew briskly. When
we reached the foot of Tanda, we perceived a long dark line moving, like
a huge caterpillar, slowly along the precipitous sides of the mountain.
The guides of Lang-Ki-Tsoung told us that it was a troop of Lamas
returning from a pilgrimage to Lha-Ssa-Morou, and who had encamped for
the night at the other end of the valley. The sight of these numerous
travellers restored our courage, and we resolutely undertook the ascent
of the mountain. Before we reached the top, the wind began to blow
violently, and drove about the snow in every direction. It seemed as
though the whole mountain was falling to pieces; the ascent became so
steep, that neither men nor animals had strength enough to climb up. The
horses stumbled at almost every step, and if they had not been kept up by
the large masses of snow, on more than one occasion they would have been
precipitated into the valley of Lang-Ki-Tsoung. M. Gabet, who had not
yet recovered from the illness which our first journey had occasioned
him, could scarcely reach the top of Tanda; not having sufficient
strength to grasp the tail of his horse, he fell from exhaustion, and
became almost buried in the snow. The Thibetian escort went to his
assistance, and succeeded, after long and painful exertions, in getting
him to the top, where he arrived more dead than alive; his face was of a
livid paleness, and his heaving breast sent forth a sound like the
death-rattle.

We met on the top of the mountain the Lama pilgrims, who had preceded us;
they were all lying in the snow, having beside them their long
iron-ferruled sticks. Some asses, laden with baggage, were packed one
against the other, shivering in the cold wind, and hanging down their
long ears. When all had sufficiently recovered breath, we resumed our
march. The descent being almost perpendicular, we had only to sit down,
and leave it to our own weight to secure our making a rapid journey. The
snow, under these circumstances, was rather favourable than otherwise; it
formed on the asperities of the ground a thick carpet which enabled us to
slide down with impunity. We had only to deplore the loss of an ass,
which, choosing to get out of the beaten path, was precipitated into an
abyss.

As soon as we reached Tanda, the Mandarin, Ly-Kouo-Ngan, shook off the
snow which covered his clothes, put on his hat of ceremony, and
proceeded, accompanied by all his soldiers,