He flourished his hands and cried: "Noyon (the Prince) asks you to come! He is very glad!" From a warrior I was forced to change myself into a diplomat.

As we approached the yurta of the Prince, we were met by two officials, wearing the peaked Mongol caps with peacock feathers rampants behind.
With low obeisances they begged the foreign "Noyon" to enter the yurta.
My friend the Tartar and I entered.

In the rich yurta draped with expensive silk we discovered a feeble, wizen-faced little old man with shaven face and cropped hair, wearing also a high pointed beaver cap with red silk apex topped off with a dark red button with the long peacock feathers streaming out behind.

On his nose were big Chinese spectacles.

He was sitting on a low divan, nervously clicking the beads of his rosary.