The President bowed towards the singers; the chorus ended; the President and his suite turned to leave the gate; the mounted body-guard shuffled making ready for departure; the foreigners with cameras crowded near the whitewashed balustrades of the bridge to obtain a snapshot as the President crossed, made the minutest of preparations to ensure succoss—and waited with strained fingers on the exposure levers. They waited many, many minutes; then suddenly the mounted body-guard put spurs to their mounts, and the camera fiends fumed. They had been fooled. The President returned not the way he had come. He left the precincts of the For-hidden City by a gate on the west and the bands began to play on their way back to barracks. inal fron
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.