“Sire, a Frenchman,” replied my companion.
“A Frenchman?” repeated the king, quickly. Then turning to me, “You are French?”
“Yes, sire,” I answered, in Siamese.
“Monsieur comes from Paris,” said the abbé; “but he has recently visited Siam.”
“And what does he come to my kingdom for?”
“He has a particular mission, which has nothing to do with politics; it is merely to see the country. M. Mouhot will soon wait upon your majesty.”
After a few minutes’ silence, the king, waving his hand, and saying “Au revoir,” passed on.
I was at first afraid that the abbé had made me pass for a less humble and modest individual than I really was, and I should be forbidden the kingdom. The very name of France is full of dread to these poor monarchs; and this present one lived in daily fear of seeing the French flag waving in the roads. He is about sixty years of age, short and stout. He wears his hair cut rather close, and his countenance is good-natured, mild, and intelligent.[13]
Drawn by M. Pelcoq, from a Sketch by M. Mouhot.