gination remains abashed at the remains of
the most splendid architecture left us by Asiatic genius.

It is in the farthest depths of this mosque that the faithful go to
worship at the tomb of Kassimben-Abbas, a venerated Mussulman saint,
and we are told that if we open the tomb a living man will come forth
from it in all his glory. But the experiment has not been made as yet,
and we prefer to believe in the legend.

We had to make an effort to throw off our contemplative mood; and
fortunately the Caternas did not trouble our ecstasy by evoking any of
their recollections of the theater. Doubtless they had shared in our
impressions.

We resumed our seats in the arba, and the yemtchik took us at the
gallop of his doves along shady roads which the Russian administration
keeps up with care.

Along these roads we met and passed many figures worthy of notice.
Their costumes were varied enough, "Khalats," in startling colors, and
their heads enturbaned most coquettishly. In a population of forty
thousand there was, of course, a great mingling of races. Most of them
seemed to be Tadjiks of Iranian origin. They are fine strong fellows,
whose white skin has disappeared beneath the tan of the open air and
the unclouded sun. Here is what Madame de Ujfalvy-Bourdon says of them
in her interesting book: "Their hair is generally black, as is also
their beard, which is very abundant. Their eyes are never turned up at
the corners, and are almost always brown. The nose is very handsome,
the lips are not thick, the teeth are small. The forehead is high,
broad, and the general shape of the face is oval."

And I cannot refrain from mentioning a note of approval from Caterna
when he saw one of these Tadjiks superbly draped in his many-colored
Khalat.

"What a splendid lead! What an admirable Melingue! You can see him in
Richepins's _Nana Sahib_ or Meurice's _Schamyl_."

"He would make a lot of money! replied Madame Caterna.

"He just would--I believe you, Caroline!" replied the enthusiastic
actor.

And for him, as for all other theatrical folks, is not the money the
most serious and the least disputable manifestation of the dramatic art?

It was already five o clock, and in this incomparable city of Samarkand
scene succeeded scene. There! I am getting into that way of looking at
it now. Certainly the spectacle should finish before midnight. But as
we start at eight o'clock, we shall have to lose the end of the piece.
But as I con