ur walk, after the
clamber up which makes us thirsty, and Madame L'Heure's waffles, which
we have been eating to beguile the way, we always find them empty. It
seems impossible for Madame Prune, or Mdlle. Oyouki, or their young
servant Mdlle. Dede,[J] to have forethought enough to fill them while
it is still daylight. And when we are late in returning home, these
three ladies are asleep, so we are obliged to attend to the business
ourselves.

[Footnote J: _Dede-San_ means "Miss Young Girl," a very common name.]

We must therefore open all the closed doors, put on our boots, and go
down into the garden to draw water.

As Chrysantheme would die of fright all alone in the dark, in the
midst of the trees and buzzing of the insects, I am obliged to
accompany her to the well. For this expedition we require a light, and
must seek among the quantity of lanterns purchased at Madame
Tres-Propre's booth, which have been thrown night after night into the
bottom of one of our little paper closets; but alas, all the candles
are burnt down; I thought as much! Well, we must resolutely take the
first lantern to hand, and stick a fresh candle on the iron point at
the bottom; Chrysantheme puts forth all her strength, the candle
splits, breaks; the mousme pricks her fingers, pouts and whimpers.
Such is the inevitable scene that takes place every evening, and
delays our retiring to rest under the dark blue gauze net for a good
quarter of an hour; while the cicalas on the roof seem to mock us with
their ceaseless song.

All this, which I should find amusing in any one else,--any one I
loved--provokes me in her.

XLIV.

_September 11th_.

A week has passed by peacefully enough, during which I have written
down nothing.

Little by little I am becoming accustomed to my Japanese household, to
the strangeness of the language, costumes, and faces. For the last
three weeks, no letters have arrived from Europe; they have no doubt
miscarried, and their absence contributes, as is usually the case, to
throw a veil of oblivion over the past.

Every day, therefore, I faithfully climb up to my villa, sometimes by
beautiful star-lit nights, sometimes through stormy downpours of rain.
Every morning as the sound of Madame Prune's chanted prayer rises
through the reverberating air, I awake and go down towards the sea, by
the grassy pathways full of dew.

The chief occupation of this Japanese country, seems to be a perpetual
hunt after c