like a morning alarm when the hour for waking has come, the
mechanical noise of a spring let go and running down.

_"The richest woman in the world. Cleansed from all my sins, O
Ama-Terace-Omi-Kami, in the river of Kamo."_

And this extraordinary bleating, scarcely human, scatters and changes
my ideas, which were very nearly clear at the moment I awoke.

XLIX.

_September 15th_.

There is a rumor of departure in the air. Since yesterday there has
been vague talk of our being sent to China, to the gulf of Pekin; one
of those rumors which spread, no one knows how, from one end of the
ship to the other, two or three days before the official orders
arrive, and which generally turn out tolerably correct. What will the
last act of my little Japanese comedy be like? the denouement, the
separation? Will there be any touch of sadness on the part of my
mousme, or on my own, just a tightening of the heart-strings at the
moment of our final farewell? At this moment I can imagine nothing of
the sort. And then the adieux of Yves and Chrysantheme, what will they
be? This question preoccupies me more than all.

There is nothing very precise as yet, but it is certain that one way
or another, our stay in Japan is coming to an end. It is this perhaps
which disposes me this evening, to throw a more friendly glance on my
surroundings. It is about six o'clock, after a day spent on duty, when
I reach Diou-djen-dji. The evening sun, low in the sky, on the point
of setting, pours into my room, and floods it with rays of red gold,
lighting up the Buddhas and the great sheaves of quaintly arranged
flowers in the antique vases. Here are assembled five or six little
dolls, my neighbors, amusing themselves by dancing to the sound of
Chrysantheme's guitar. And this evening I experience a real charm in
feeling that this dwelling and the woman who leads the dance, are
mine. On the whole I have perhaps been unjust to this country; it
seems to me that my eyes are at last opened to see it in its true
light, that all my senses are undergoing a strange and abrupt
transition; I suddenly have a better perception and appreciation of
all the infinity of dainty trifles amongst which I live; of the
fragile and studied grace of their forms, the oddity of their
drawings, the refined choice of their colors.

I stretch myself upon the white mats; Chrysantheme, always eagerly
attentive, brings me my pillow of serpent's skin; and the smiling
mousmes, w