and sip odd little
drinks tasting of flowers. But this evening we are alone, and the
absence of the band of mousmes, whose familiar little faces formed
a bond of union between this holiday-making people and ourselves,
separates and isolates us more than usual from the profusion of oddities
in the midst of which we seem to be lost. Beneath us lies always the
immense blue background: Nagasaki illumined by moonlight, and the
expanse of silvered, glittering water, which seems like a vaporous
vision suspended in mid-air. Behind us is the great open temple, where
the bonzes officiate, to the accompaniment of sacred bells and wooden
clappers-looking, from where we sit, more like puppets than anything
else, some squatting in rows like peaceful mummies, others executing
rhythmical marches before the golden background where stand the gods. We
do not laugh to-night, and speak but little, more forcibly struck by
the scene than we were on the first night; we only look on, trying to
understand. Suddenly, Yves, turning round, says:

"Hullo! brother, there is your mousme!"

Actually, there she is, behind him; Chrysantheme, almost on all fours,
hidden between the paws of a great granite beast, half tiger, half dog,
against which our fragile tent is leaning.

"She pulled my trousers with her nails, for all the world like a little
cat," said Yves, still full of surprise, "positively like a cat!"

She remains bent double in the most humble form of salutation; she
smiles timidly, afraid of being ill received, and the head of my little
brother-in-law, Bambou, appears smiling too, just above her own. She
has brought this little mousko--[Mousko is the masculine of mousme,
and signifies little boy. Excessive politeness makes it mousko-san (Mr.
little boy).]--with her, perched astride her back; he looks as absurd
as ever, with his shaven head, his long frock and the great bows of his
silken sash. There they stand gazing at us, anxious to know how their
joke will be taken.

For my part, I have not the least idea of giving them a cold reception;
on the contrary, the meeting amuses me. It even strikes me that it is
rather pretty of Chrysantheme to come around in this way, and to
bring Bambou-San to the festival; though it savors somewhat of her low
breeding, to tell the truth, to carry him on her back, as the poorer
Japanese women carry their little ones.

However, let her sit down between Yves and myself and let them bring her
those iced b