eans she loves so much; and we will take the jolly little
mousko on our knees and cram him with sugar and sweetmeats to his
heart's content.

When the evening is over, and we begin to think of leaving, and of going
down again, Chrysantheme replaces her little Bambou astride upon her
back, and sets forth, bending forward under his weight and painfully
dragging her Cinderella slippers over the granite steps and flagstones.
Yes, decidedly low, this conduct! but low in the best sense of the word:
nothing in it displeases me; I even consider Chrysantheme's affection
for Bambou-San engaging and attractive in its simplicity.

One can not deny this merit to the Japanese--a great love for little
children, and a talent for amusing them, for making them laugh,
inventing comical toys for them, making the morning of their life happy;
for a specialty in dressing them, arranging their heads, and giving to
the whole personage the most fascinating appearance possible. It is the
only thing I really like about this country: the babies and the manner
in which they are understood.

On our way we meet our married friends of the Triomphante, who, much
surprised at seeing me with this mousko, jokingly exclaim:

"What! a son already?"

Down in the town, we make a point of bidding goodby to Chrysantheme at
the turning of the street where her mother lives. She smiles, undecided,
declares herself well again, and begs to return to our house on the
heights. This did not precisely enter into my plans, I confess. However,
it would look very ungracious to refuse.

So be it! But we must carry the mousko home to his mamma, and then
begin, by the flickering light of a new lantern bought from Madame
Tres-Propre, our weary homeward ascent.

Here, however, we find ourselves in another predicament: this ridiculous
little Bambou insists upon coming with us! No, he will take no denial,
we must take him with us. This is out of all reason, quite impossible!

However, it will not do to make him cry, on the night of a great
festival too, poor little mousko! So we must send a message to Madame
Renoncule, that she may not be uneasy about him, and as there will soon
not be a living creature on the footpaths of Diou-djen-dji to laugh at
us, we will take it in turn, Yves and I, to carry him on our backs, all
the way up that climb in the darkness.

And here am I, who did not wish to return this way tonight, dragging a
mousme by the hand, and actually carrying a