on, "and we are all going together--Campanule, Jonquille,
Touki, all your mousmes--to watch your vessel set sail. Pray sit down
and stay a few minutes."

"No, I really can not stay. I have several things to do in the town,
you see, and the order was given for every one to be on board by three
o'clock in time for muster before starting. Moreover, I would prefer
to escape, as you can imagine, while Madame Prune is still enjoying
her siesta; I should be afraid of being drawn into some corner, or of
provoking some heartrending parting scene."

Chrysantheme bows her head and says no more, but seeing that I am really
going, rises to escort me.

Without speaking, without the slightest noise, she follows me as we
descend the staircase and cross the garden full of sunshine, where
the dwarf shrubs and the deformed flowers seem, like the rest of the
household, plunged in warm somnolence.

At the outer gate I stop for the last adieu: the little sad pout has
reappeared, more accentuated than ever, on Chrysantheme's face; it is
the right thing, it is correct, and I should feel offended now were it
absent.

Well, little mousme, let us part good friends; one last kiss even, if
you like. I took you to amuse me; you have not perhaps succeeded very
well, but after all you have done what you could: given me your little
face, your little curtseys, your little music; in short, you have been
pleasant enough in your Japanese way. And who knows, perchance I may yet
think of you sometimes when I recall this glorious summer, these pretty,
quaint gardens, and the ceaseless concert of the cicalas.

She prostrates herself on the threshold of the door, her forehead
against the ground, and remains in this attitude of superlatively polite
salute as long as I am in sight, while I go down the pathway by which I
am to disappear for ever.

As the distance between us increases, I turn once or twice to look at
her again; but it is a mere civility, and meant to return as it deserves
her grand final salutation.

CHAPTER LIII. OFF FOR CHINA

When I entered the town, at the turn of the principal street, I had
the good luck to meet Number 415, my poor relative. I was just at that
moment in want of a speedy djin, and I at once got into his vehicle;
besides, it was an alleviation to my feelings, in this hour of
departure, to take my last drive in company with a member of my family.

Unaccustomed as I was to be out of doors during the hours of sies