Madame Chrysantheme -- Complete

st 1

-houses we frequent, we arrived-Yves, Chrysantheme and I-at the familiar angle of the principal street, the turn where we must tak

man, seeing us arrive, gets upon a table to take them down. Gray or red are our usual choice; Madame Tres-Propre knows our preferences and leaves the green or blue lanterns aside. But it is always hard work to unhook one, on account of the little short sticks by which they are held, and the strings with which they are tied getting entangled together. In an exaggerated pantomime, Madame Tr

f asleep, is seized with a fit of kitten-like yawning which she does not even trouble to hide behind her hand, and which appears

To what purpose do I clamber up every evening to tha

streams of light from their many-colored lanterns. Mousmes and elderly ladies pass, tucked up, muddy, laughing nevertheless under their paper umbrellas, ex

tops and promises to help us out of our difficulty; as soon as he has deposited on the quay an Englishman he is

n the way. A very lively young woman is this pastry-cook, and most eager to make herself agreeable; she looks quite like a screen picture behind her piled-up cakes, ornamented with little posies. We will take shelter under her

egs; he brings us two umbrellas, borrowed from a China merchant, who is also a distant relative of ours. Like me, Yves has till now never consented to use such a thing,

itten-like fashion, becomes coaxing in order

to take the arm of Yves-San; I am

under my fantastic umbrella. On each side of the road is heard the roaring torrent of stormy waters rolling down from the mountain-side. To-night the way seems long, difficult, and slipp

very far away, is a vapory mist which seems luminous against the blackness of the sky, a

d to the souls of the ancestors; but all good Nipponese have already lain down to rest. Under the traditional tents of bluish-green gauze, we can see whole families stretched out in rows; they are either sleeping, or hunting the mosquitoes, or

, from the sombre gardens, the sound of a guitar reaches our ears, playing

t for Chrysantheme to take breath. Yves begs me to throw forward the red gleam of

silent and dark. Our panels have been carefully shut by M. Sucre and

will put him up in our house. His little room has indeed been already provided for in the conditions of our lease, and notwithstanding his discreet refusal, we i

are burning; in the middle of the roo

ty this evening; the late hour and deep silence give it an air of my

ls in their grooves, to make at once a separate room or compartment in the great box we live in. I had thought that these panels were entirely white; but no! on each is a group of two storks painted in gray tints in those in

bed and sleepin

ight; for somehow I fancy I had seen long gl

e caused some perturbation in his mind. I do not trouble my head about this little Japanese gir

. I feel terribly dreary in this room to-night; the noise of the little pipe irritates me more than usual, and as Chrysanthem

entice Yves into committing a fault-a fault w