away the
time in the anteroom, immediately offered to paint him some storks in a
variety of attitudes.

And this is why, in Nagasaki, all the Japanese gentlemen of a certain
age have in their collections two or three of these little pictures, for
which they are indebted to the delicate and original talent of M. Sucre!

BOOK 3.

CHAPTER XXXIV. THE FEAST OF THE TEMPLE

Sunday, August 25th.

About six o'clock, while I was on duty, the 'Triomphante' abandoned
her prison walls between the mountains and came out of dock. After much
manoeuvring we took up our old moorings in the harbor, at the foot of
the Diou-djen-dji hills. The weather was again calm and cloudless, the
sky presenting a peculiar clarity, as if it had been swept by a cyclone,
an exceeding transparency bringing out the minutest details in the
distance till then unseen; as if the terrible blast had blown away every
vestige of the floating mists and left behind it nothing but void and
boundless space. The coloring of woods and mountains stood out again in
the resplendent verdancy of spring after the torrents of rain, like the
wet colors of some freshly washed painting. The sampans and junks, which
for the last three days had been lying under shelter, had now put out to
sea, and the bay was covered with their white sails, which looked like a
flight of enormous seabirds.

At eight o'clock, at nightfall, our manoeuvres having ended, I embarked
with Yves on board a sampan; this time it is he who is carrying me off
and taking me back to my home.

On land, a delicious perfume of new-mown hay greets us, and the road
across the mountains is bathed in glorious moonlight. We go straight
up to Diou-djen-dji to join Chrysantheme; I feel almost remorseful,
although I hardly show it, for my neglect of her.

Looking up, I recognize from afar my little house, perched on high.
It is wide open and lighted; I even hear the sound of a guitar. Then I
perceive the gilt head of my Buddha between the little bright flames of
its two hanging night-lamps. Now Chrysantheme appears on the veranda,
looking out as if she expected us; and with her wonderful bows of hair
and long, falling sleeves, her silhouette is thoroughly Nipponese.

As I enter, she comes forward to kiss me, in a graceful, though rather
hesitating manner, while Oyouki, more demonstrative, throws her arms
around me.

Not without a certain pleasure do I see once more this Japanese home,
which I wond