They can give themselves the pleasure of seeing and being seen, and this pleasure is shared in by the farangis--as they call foreigners, no matter to what nation they may belong.

They are very pretty, these Asiatics, with their long tresses, their transversely striped bodices, their skirts of bright colors, relieved by Chinese designs in Kothan silk, their high-heeled embroidered boots, their turbans of coquettish pattern, beneath which appear their black hair and their eyebrows united by a bar.
A few Chinese passengers alighted at Yarkand, and gave place to others exactly like them--among others a score of coolies--and we started again at eight o'clock in the evening.
During the night we ran the three hundred and fifty kilometres which separate Yarkand from Kothan.
A visit I paid to the front van showed me that the box was still in the same place.

A certain snoring proved that Kinko was inside as usual, and sleeping peacefully.

I did not care to wake him, and I left him to dream of his adorable Roumanian.
In the morning Popof told me that the train, which was now traveling about as fast as an omnibus, had passed Kargalik, the junction for the Kilian and Tong branches.

The night had been cold, for we are still at an altitude of twelve hundred metres.