Nos. 9 and 10, Pan-Chao and Dr. Tio-King: what can I say except that
Pan-Chao is always the Parisian you know, and that if he comes to
France we shall meet at dinner at Durand's or Marguery's. As to the
doctor, he has got down to eating only the yolk of an egg a day, like
his master, Cornaro, and he hopes to live to a hundred and two as did
the noble Venetian.
No. 8, Sir Francis Trevellyan, and No. 12, Seigneur Faruskiar: I have
never heard of the one who owes me an apology and a cigar, nor have I
heard that the other has been hanged. Doubtless, the illustrious
bandit, having sent in his resignation of the general managership of
the Grand Transasiatic, continues his lucrative career in the depths of
the Mongol provinces.
Now for Kinko, my No. 11: I need hardly say that my No. 11 was married
to Zinca Klork with great ceremony. We were all at the wedding, and if
the Son of Heaven had richly endowed the young Roumanian, his wife
received a magnificent present in the name of the passengers of the
train he had saved.
That is the faithful story of this journey. I have done my best to do
my duty as special correspondent all down the line, and perhaps my
editors may be satisfied, notwithstanding the slip or two you have
heard about.
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