ceremony
of introduction, we exchanged a smile of recognition. It was Number 415!

Over this poor Number 415 my friends on board crack no end of jokes--one
in particular, who, less than any one has the right to make them, little
Charles N-----, for his mother-in-law was once a concierge, or something
of the kind, at the gateway of a pagoda.

I, however, who have a great respect for strength and agility, much
appreciate this new relative of mine. His legs are undoubtedly the best
in all Nagasaki, and whenever I am in haste, I always beg Madame Prune to
send down to the djin-stand and engage my cousin.

CHAPTER XX

A DEAD FAIRY

Today I arrived unexpectedly at Diou-djen-dji, in the midst of burning
noonday heat. At the foot of the stairs lay Chrysantheme's wooden shoes
and her sandals of varnished leather.

In our rooms, upstairs, all was open to the air; bamboo blinds hung on
the sunny side, and through their transparency came warm air and golden
threads of light. Today the flowers Chrysantheme had placed in the bronze
vases were lotus, and as I entered, my eyes fell upon their wide rosy
cups.

According to her usual custom, Chrysantheme was lying flat on the floor
enjoying her daily siesta.

What a singular originality these bouquets of Chrysantheme always have: a
something, difficult to define, a Japanese slightness, an artificial
grace which we never should succeed in imparting to them.

She was sleeping, face down, upon the mats, her high headdress and
tortoise-shell pins standing out boldly from the rest of the horizontal
figure. The train of her tunic appeared to prolong her delicate little
body, like the tail of a bird; her arms were stretched crosswise, the
sleeves spread out like wings, and her long guitar lay beside her.

She looked like a dead fairy; still more did she resemble some great blue
dragon-fly, which, having alighted on that spot, some unkind hand had
pinned to the floor.

Madame Prune, who had come upstairs after me, always officious and eager,
manifested by her gestures her sentiments of indignation on beholding the
careless reception accorded by Chrysantheme to her lord and master, and
advanced to wake her.

"Pray do nothing of the kind, my good Madame Prune; you don't know how
much I prefer her like that!" I had left my shoes below, according to
custom, beside the little shoes and sandals; and I entered on the tips of
my toes, very, very, softly to sit awhile on the veranda.