more this Japanese home,
which I wonder to find still mine when I had almost forgotten its
existence. Chrysantheme has put fresh flowers in our vases, spread out
her hair, donned her best clothes, and lighted our lamps to honor my
return. From the balcony she had watched the _Triomphante_ leave the
dock, and, in the expectation of our now prompt return, she had made
her preparations; then, to while away the time, she was studying a
duet on the guitar with Oyouki. Not a question or reproach did she
make. On the contrary:

"We quite understood," she said, "how impossible it was, in such
dreadful weather, to undertake so lengthy a crossing in a sampan."

She smiled like a pleased child, and I should be fastidious indeed if
I did not admit that to-night she is charming.

I announce my intention of starting off for a long stroll through
Nagasaki; we will take Oyouki-San and two little cousins who happen to
be there, as well as some other neighbors, if they wish to; we will
buy the funniest toys, eat all sorts of cakes, and amuse ourselves to
our hearts' content.

"How lucky we are to be here, just at the right moment," they exclaim,
jumping with joy. "How fortunate we are! This very evening there is to
be a pilgrimage to the great temple of the _Jumping Tortoise!_ The
whole town will be there; all our married friends have already
started, the whole set, X----, Y----, Z----, Touki-San, Campanule, and
Jonquille, with _the friend of amazing height_." And those two, poor
Chrysantheme and poor Oyouki, would have been obliged to stay at home
with heavy hearts, because we had not yet arrived, and because Madame
Prune had been seized with faintness and hysterics after her dinner.

Quickly the mousmes must deck themselves out. Chrysantheme is ready;
Oyouki hurries, changes her dress, and, putting on a mouse-colored
gray robe, begs me to arrange the bows of her fine sash--black satin
lined with yellow--sticking at the same time in her hair a silver
top-knot. We light our lanterns, swinging at the end of little sticks;
M. Sucre, overwhelming us with thanks for his daughter, accompanies us
on all fours to the door,--and we go off gayly through the clear and
balmy night.

Below, we find the town in all the animation of a great holiday. The
streets are thronged; the crowd passes by,--a laughing, capricious,
slow, unequal tide, flowing onwards, however, steadily in the same
direction, towards the same goal. There arises therefrom a