"For you--an Englishman--yes," said the man, with a queer smile, and was continuing, when "The Khan will be growing impatient," broke in the Wazir, taking my hand and leading me hurriedly into the street.
An Afghan guard of honour was drawn up at the entrance of the palace, wearing the nearest approach to a uniform I had yet seen--dark-green tunics, light-blue trousers, and white turbans, clean, well fitting, and evidently kept for state occasions.

Each man carried a Berdan rifle and cavalry sabre.

It struck me as a curious coincidence that the former rifle is in general use throughout the Russian army.
Leaving my escort with strict injunctions to keep their tempers, and under no circumstances to allow themselves to be drawn into a quarrel, I followed the Wazir and his attendants into the Mir.

The entrance is through an underground passage about forty yards long by seven wide, ill-smelling and in total darkness.

Arrived at the end, we again emerged into daylight, and, ascending a flight of rickety wooden steps, found ourselves in the durbar-room--a spacious apartment, its walls decorated with green, gold, and crimson panels, alternating with large looking-glasses.