le has created, and
they astonish, for they do not seem Japanese.

We climb still higher. At this sultry hour of the day, from top to
bottom of the enormous gray steps, only we three are to be seen; on
all that granite there are but the pink butterflies on Chrysantheme's
parasol to give a cheerful and brilliant touch.

We passed through the first temple yard, in which are two white china
turrets, bronze lanterns, and the statue of a large horse in jade. Then,
without pausing at the sanctuary, we turned to the left, and entered
a shady garden, which formed a terrace halfway up the hill, at the
extremity of which was situated the Donko-Tchaya--in English, the
Teahouse of the Toads.

This was the place where Chrysantheme had wished to take us. We sat down
at a table, under a black linen tent decorated with large white letters
(of funereal aspect), and two laughing 'mousmes' hastened to wait upon
us.

The word 'mousme' means a young girl, or very young woman. It is one
of the prettiest words in the Nipponese language; it seems almost as
if there were a little pout in the very sound--a pretty, taking little
pout, such as they put on, and also as if a little pert physiognomy were
described by it. I shall often make use of it, knowing none other in our
own language that conveys the same meaning.

Some Japanese Watteau must have mapped out this Donko-Tchaya, for it
has rather an affected air of rurality, though very pretty. It is
well shaded, under a shelter of large trees with dense foliage, and a
miniature lake close by, the chosen residence of a few toads, has given
it its attractive denomination. Lucky toads, who crawl and croak on
the finest of moss, in the midst of tiny artificial islets decked with
gardenias in full bloom. From time to time, one of them informs us of
his thoughts by a 'Couac', uttered in a deep bass croak, infinitely more
hollow than that of our own toads.

Under the tent of this tea-house, we sit on a sort of balcony jutting
out from the mountain-side, overhanging from on high the grayish town
and its suburbs buried in greenery. Around, above, and beneath us cling
and hang, on every possible point, clumps of trees and fresh green
woods, with the delicate and varying foliage of the temperate zone. We
can see, at our feet, the deep roadstead, foreshortened and slanting,
diminished in appearance till it looks like a sombre rent in the mass
of large green mountains; and farther still, quite low on th