ad made the two pots boil.
She now took the entrails of the sheep, washed them pretty clean, and
then, with the blood which she took from the interior of the sheep by
means of a large wooden spoon, prepared some puddings, the basis of which
was the never-failing oatmeal. "Sirs Lamas," said the little layman,
"shall I bone the sheep?" Upon our answering in the affirmative, he had
the animal hooked upon the tent, for he was not big enough to perform
that operation himself; he then mounted upon a large stone, and passing
his knife rapidly along the bones, he detached, in one piece, all the
meat, so as to leave dangling from the tent a mere skeleton, clean,
cleared, and nicely polished.

While the little layman was, according to his expression, putting in
order the flesh of the sheep, the rest of the company had prepared a gala
in the Tartar fashion. The young Lama was director of the feast. "Now,"
he cried, "let us all sit round; the great pot is going to be emptied."
Forthwith everyone sat down upon the turf. The old Mongol woman plunged
both hands into the pot, which was boiling over, and drew out all the
intestines--the liver, the heart, the kidneys, the spleen, and the
bowels, stuffed with blood and oatmeal. In this gastronomical
preparation, the most remarkable thing was, that all the intestines had
been retained in their integrity, so that they presented themselves much
as they are seen in the living beast. The old woman served up, or rather
threw this splendid dish upon the lawn, which was at once our chair,
table, plate, and, in case of need, our napkin. It is unnecessary to
add, that we used our fingers instead of forks. Everyone seized with his
hands a portion of the bowels, twisted it from the mass, and devoured it
without seasoning or salt.

The two French missionaries were not able, despite their utmost
willingness, to do honour to this Tartar dish. First we burned our
fingers when we tried to touch the hot and smoking repast. Although our
guests urged that it ought not to be allowed to grow cold, we waited a
little, afraid of burning our lips also. At last we tasted these
puddings of sheep's blood and oatmeal, but after getting down a few
mouthsful, we were quite satisfied. Never, perhaps, had we eaten
anything so utterly tasteless and insipid. Samdadchiemba, having
foreseen this, had withdrawn from the common dish, the liver and the
kidneys, which he placed before us, with some salt, which he