limbing up the road to Diou-djen-dji, which I shall probably never
see again, a vague feeling of melancholy pervades my last stroll.

It is, however, but the melancholy inseparable from all things that
are about to end without possibility of return.

Moreover, this calm and splendid summer is also drawing to a close for
us,--since to-morrow we shall go forth to meet the autumn, in Northern
China. I am beginning, alas! to count the youthful summers I may still
hope for; I feel more gloomy each time another fades away, and flies
to rejoin the others already disappeared in the dark and bottomless
abyss, where all past things lie buried.

At midnight we return home, and my removal begins; while on board the
_amazingly tall friend_ kindly takes my watch.

It is a nocturnal, rapid, stealthy removal,--_"dorobo_ (thieves)
fashion" remarks Yves, who in frequenting the mousmes has picked up a
smattering of the Niponese language.

Messrs, the packers have, at my request, sent in the evening several
charming little boxes, with compartments and false bottoms, and
several paper bags (in the untearable Japanese paper), which close of
themselves and are fastened by strings, also in paper, arranged
beforehand in the most ingenious manner,--quite the cleverest and most
handy thing of its kind; for little useful trifles these people are
unrivaled.

It is a real treat to pack them, and everybody lends a helping
hand,--Yves, Chrysantheme, Madame Prune, her daughter, and M. Sucre.
By the glimmer of the reception-lamps, which are still burning, every
one wraps, rolls, and ties up expeditiously, for it is already late.

Although Oyouki has a heavy heart, she cannot prevent herself from
indulging in a few bursts of childish laughter while she works.

Madame Prune, bathed in tears, no longer restrains her feelings; poor
lady, I really very much regret....

Chrysantheme is absent-minded and silent.

But what a fearful amount of luggage! Eighteen cases or parcels,
containing Buddhas, chimeras, and vases, without mentioning the last
lotus that I carry away tied up in a pink cluster.

All this is piled up in the djins' carts, hired at sunset, which are
waiting at the door, while their runners lie asleep on the grass.

A starlit and exquisite night. We start off with lighted lanterns,
followed by the three sorrowful ladies who accompany us, and by abrupt
slopes, dangerous in the darkness, we descend towards the sea.

The djins, stiffen