It is not a merchant on business; it is not a mandarin whom the minister has charged with some important mission, an artist in search of the beauties of nature, a savant whose tastes lead him to seek ancient documents stored in the temples of bonzes or llamas in old China. Neither is it a student going to the Pagoda of Examinations to get his university degrees; nor a priest of Buddha going about the country to inspect the small rural altars erected among the roots of the sacred banyan; nor a pilgrim going to fulfil some vow at one of the five holy mountains of the Celestial Empire.

      It is the pretended Ki-Nan, accompanied by Fry-Craig, ever active and ready, followed by Soun, who was more and more weary and reluctant. It is Kin-Fo, in the odd mood which leads him to fly from, and at the same time to seek, the undiscoverable Wang. It is the patron of the Centenary, who only seeks, in this incessant going and coming, forgetfulness of his situation, and perhaps a guaranty against the invisible dangers by which he is menaced. The best marksman stands a chance of missing a target in motion, and Kin-Fo wishes to be this target which never ceases to move.

      The travellers had taken at Nankin one of the fast American steamboats, the vast floating hotels which sail on the Blue River. Sixty hours afterwards they landed at Ran-Keou, without even having admired that odd-looking rock, the Little Orphan, which rises up in the middle of the current of the Yang-Tze-Kiang, and where a temple made use of by the bonzes boldly crowns the summit.

At Ran-Keou, situated at the confluence of the Blue River and its important tributary, the Ran-Kiang,1 the wandering Kin-Fo stopped only half a day. There again souvenirs of the Tai-ping were found in irreparable ruin; but neither in this commercial city—which, to tell the truth, is only an annexation of the prefecture of Ran-Yang-Fou, built on the right shore of the tributary stream—nor at Ou-Tchang-Fou, the capital of the province of Rou-Pe, on the right shore of the stream, did the uncapturable Wang leave any trace of his passage. But there were plenty of those terrible letters which Kin-Fo had found at Nankin on the tomb of the crowned bonze.

      If Craig and Fry had ever hoped that on this journey through China they could carry away any idea of its customs, or acquire any knowledge of its cities, they were soon undeceived. They would not have had time to take notes; and their impressions would have been reduced to a few names of cities and townships, or to the days of the month. But they were neither curious nor talkative: indeed, they hardly ever spoke. Of what use would it have been? What Craig thought, Fry thought also. It would have been only a monologue. Therefore they, like their patron, did not notice that double appearance common to the majority of Chinese cities, which are dead within, and full of life in their suburbs.

      At Ran-Keou they barely perceived the European quarter, with its broad, rectangular streets and elegant houses, and its promenade shaded by tall trees, which skirts the shore of the Blue River. They had eyes to see only one man, and that man remained invisible.

      The steamboat, owing to the tide which raised the waters of the Ran-Kiang, could ascend this tributary for one hundred and thirty leagues more, as far as Lao-Ro-Keou.

      Kin-Fo was not the man to abandon this style of locomotion, which pleased him. On the contrary, he expected to go to the point where the Ran-Kiang would cease to be navigable. Beyond that he would consider.

      Craig and Fry would have asked nothing better than to have had this kind of navigation the whole course of the journey; for their surveillance was easier on board a boat, and dangers were less imminent. Later, on the routes through the provinces of Central China, which were less safe, it would be quite different.

      As for Soun, this steamboat life pleased him very well; for he did not have to walk or do any thing, and left his master to the good offices of Craig-Fry. All he thought of was to take a nap in his corner after having breakfasted, dined, and supped conscientiously; for the cooking was good. A change of food on board the boat a few days later would have indicated to any one but this ignorant fellow that a change of latitude had taken place in the geographical situation of the travellers; for, during the meals, wheat was suddenly substituted for rice in the form of unleavened bread, which was quite agreeable to the taste when eaten fresh from the oven.

      Soun, as a true Chinaman of the south, grieved for his daily rice. He managed his little chopsticks with so much skill when he dropped the kernels from the cup into his vast mouth, and absorbed such quantities of them! Than rice and tea, what more is desired by a true Son of Heaven?

      The steamboat, ascending the course of the Ran-Kiang, had just entered the wheat-region, where the elevation of the country becomes more marked. On the horizon are outlined several mountains, crowned with fortifications which were built under the ancient dynasty of the Ming. The artificial banks, which hold the waters of the river, give way to low shores, enlarging its bed at the expense of its depth. The government of Guan-Lo-Fou now appeared.

      Kin-Fo did not go on shore during the few hours required to put the fuel on board in the presence of the custom-house boats. What was he going to do in that city, which he cared so little to see. He had but one desire, since he no longer found a trace of the philosopher; and that was to travel farther still into the interior of Central China, where, if he did not catch Wang, Wang would not catch him.

      After Guan-Lo-Fou, came two cities built opposite one another,—the commercial city of Fan-Tcheng on the left shore, and the government of Siang-Yang-Fou on the right,—the first being a suburb full of the stir of people and the bustle of business; the second, the residence of the authorities, and more dead than alive.

      And after Fan-Tcheng the Ran-Kiang, ascending directly to the north at a sharp angle, was still navigable as far as Lao-Ro-Keou. But the water was not deep enough for the steamboat to go farther.

      On leaving this last stopping-place, the conditions of the journey were changed. One was obliged to abandon the water-courses, those “walking roads,” and either walk or substitute for the soft, gliding motion of a boat, the shaking, jolting, and pitching of the deplorable vehicles used in the Celestial Empire. Unhappy Soun! A series of torments, fatigues, and reproaches were about to begin again.