t is very nice of him to wish to help me in my packing; but I think
he also counts upon saying farewell to his little Japanese friends up
there, and I really cannot find fault with that.

He gets through his work, and does in fact get leave without help from
me, to go on shore at five o'clock, after drill and manoeuvres.

As for myself, I start off at once, in a hired sampan. In the vast
flood of midday sunshine, to the quivering noise of the cicalas, I
mount up to Diou-djen-dji.

The paths are solitary, the plants drooping in the heat. Here,
however, is Madame Jonquille, taking the air, in the bright sunshine
of the grasshoppers, sheltering her dainty figure and her charming
face under an immense paper parasol, a huge circle, closely ribbed and
fantastically striped.

She recognizes me from afar, and laughing as usual, runs to meet me.

I announce our departure, and a tearful pout suddenly contracts her
childish face. After all, does this news grieve her? Is she going to
shed tears over it? No! it turns to a fit of laughter, a little
nervous perhaps, but unexpected and disconcerting,--dry and clear,
pealing through the silence and warmth of the narrow paths, like a
cascade of little mock pearls.

Ah, there indeed is a marriage tie which will be broken without much
pain! But she fills me with impatience, poor empty-headed linnet, with
her laughter, and I turn my back upon her to continue my journey.

Up above, Chrysantheme sleeps, stretched out on the floor; the house
is wide open, and the soft mountain breeze rustles gently through it.

That same evening we had intended to give a tea-party, and by my
orders flowers had already been placed in every nook and corner of the
house. There were lotus in our vases, beautiful rose-colored lotus,
the last of the season, I verily believe. They must have been ordered
from a special gardener, out yonder near the Great Temple, and they
will cost me dear.

With a few gentle taps of a fan I awake my surprised mousme; and,
curious to catch her first impressions, I announce my departure. She
starts up, rubs her eyelids with the back of her little hands, looks
at me, and hangs her head: something like an expression of sadness
passes in her eyes.

This little sinking at the heart is for Yves, no doubt.

The news spreads through the house.

Mdlle. Oyouki dashes upstairs, with half a tear in each of her babyish
eyes; kisses me with her full red lips, which always leave a wet r