e planks of the flooring, and there they are, on all fours one before
another; it is a polite dispute, all eager to yield precedence as to
sitting down, or passing first, and compliments without end are murmured
in low tones, with faces against the floor.

They seat themselves at last, smiling, in a ceremonious circle; we
two remaining standing, our eyes fixed on the staircase. And at length
emerges the little aigrette of silver flowers, the ebony coiffure, the
gray silk robe and mauve sash of Mademoiselle Jasmin, my fiancee!

Heavens! why, I know her already! Long before setting foot in Japan, I
had met her, on every fan, on every teacup with her silly air, her puffy
little face, her tiny eyes, mere gimlet-holes above those expanses of
impossible pink and white cheeks.

She is young, that is all I can say in her favor; she is even so young
that I should almost scruple to accept her. The wish to laugh leaves
me suddenly, and instead, a profound chill seizes my heart. What! share
even an hour of my life with that little doll? Never!

The next question is, how to get rid of her.

She advances smiling, with an air of repressed triumph, and behind her
looms M. Kangourou, in his suit of gray tweed. Fresh salutes, and behold
her on all fours, she too, before my landlady and before my neighbors.
Yves, the big Yves, who is not about to be married, stands behind me,
with a comical grimace, hardly repressing his laughter--while to give
myself time to collect my ideas, I offer tea in little cups, little
spittoons, and embers to the company.

Nevertheless, my discomfited air does not escape my visitors. M.
Kangourou anxiously inquires:

"How do you like her?" And I reply in a low voice, but with great
resolution:

"Not at all! I won't have that one. Never!"

I believe that this remark was almost understood in the circle around
me. Consternation was depicted on every face, jaws dropped, and pipes
went out. And now I address my reproaches to Kangourou: "Why have you
brought her to me in such pomp, before friends and neighbors of both
sexes, instead of showing her to me discreetly, as if by chance, as I
had wished? What an affront you will compel me now to put upon all these
polite persons!"

The old ladies (the mamma, no doubt, and aunts), prick up their ears,
and M. Kangourou translates to them, softening as much as possible, my
heartrending decision. I feel really almost sorry for them; the fact is,
that for women who,