rincipal object of interest of the procession, the corpse, comes last,
laid in a sort of little closed palanquin, which is daintily pretty.
This is followed by a band of mousmes, hiding their laughing faces
beneath a kind of veil, and carrying in vases of the sacred shape the
artificial lotus with silver petals indispensable at a funeral; then
come fine ladies, on foot, smirking and stifling a wish to laugh,
beneath parasols on which are painted, in the gayest colors, butterflies
and storks.

Now they are quite close to us, we must stand back to give them room.
Chrysantheme all at once assumes a suitable air of gravity, and Yves
bares his head, taking off the magpie's nest.

Yes, it is true, it is death that is passing!

I had almost lost sight of the fact, so little does this procession
recall it.

The procession will climb high above Nagasaki, into the heart of the
green mountain covered with tombs. There the poor fellow will be laid
at rest, with his palanquin above him, and his vases and his flowers of
silvered paper. Well, at least he will lie in a charming spot commanding
a lovely view.

Then they will return half laughing, half snivelling, and tomorrow no
one will think of it again.

CHAPTER XXIV. SOCIABILITY

August 4th.

Our ship, the 'Triomphante', which has been lying in the harbor almost
at the foot of the hill on which stands my house, enters the dock to-day
to undergo repairs rendered necessary by the long blockade of Formosa.

I am now a long way from my home, and am compelled to cross by boat the
whole breadth of the bay when I wish to see Chrysantheme; for the dock
is situated on the shore, opposite to Diou-djen-dji. It is sunk in a
little valley, narrow and deep, midst all kinds of foliage--bamboos,
camellias, trees of all sorts; our masts and spars, seen from the deck,
look as if they were tangled among the branches.

The situation of the vessel--no longer afloat--gives the crew a greater
facility for clandestine escapes from the ship at no matter what hour of
the night, and our sailors have made friends with all the girls of the
villages perched on the mountains above us.

These quarters, and this excessive liberty, give me some uneasiness
about my poor Yves; for this country of frivolous pleasure has a little
turned his head.

Moreover, I am more and more convinced that he is in love with
Chrysantheme.

It is really a pity that the sentiment has not occurred to me instead,
si