“My service,” said I: “I have no need to tell it.”
“Where do you come from, my noble priest?” said he, intending from my reply to conjecture my station in life.
“From Lhasa,” replied I.
“Which part of Lhasa, Sir?”
“From the Sera temple.”
“I see,” said he, with sparkling eyes, believing that he had found out my secret; “you are an incarnation of the Lama.”
Before I could say “no,” my servant, who was sitting near me, spoke to him instantly: “The Dalai Lama’s” ... but before he could say more I stopped him with angry looks: “You must not talk nonsense; for it is no use.”
“Then, what is your station in life, Sir,” he asked me again, thinking that it is very strange that I should conceal my social position, “are you His Holiness’s chaplain?” “No” said I, “I am simply living in Sera and nothing else.”
The more he wanted to know about me, the more I tried to keep him in the dark, and I told him I could not comply with his desire.
“No, that is not good,” said the inn-keeper. “This is a very troublesome place; your condition must be thoroughly investigated, your dwelling and what position you hold, and all doubtful points must be verified. You must also produce a witness that though you are going to India you are sure to return here again. To get a witness is not an easy task; and to do this, I must first hear everything about you.”