the town.

Then we also depart. The night is fresh, silent, exquisite, the eternal
song of the cicalas fills the air. We can still see the red lanterns
of my new family, dwindling away in the distance, as they descend and
gradually become lost in that yawning abyss, at the bottom of which lies
Nagasaki.

Our way, too, lies downward, but on an opposite slope by steep paths
leading to the sea.

And when I find myself once more on board, when the scene enacted on
the hill above recurs to my mind, it seems to me that my betrothal is a
joke, and my new family a set of puppets.

CHAPTER V. A FANTASTIC MARRIAGE

July 10, 1885.

Three days have passed since my marriage was an accomplished fact.

In the lower part of the town, in one of the new cosmopolitan districts,
in an ugly, pretentious building, which is a sort of registry office,
the deed was signed and countersigned, with marvellous hieroglyphics, in
a large book, in the presence of those absurd little creatures, formerly
silken-robed Samurai, but now called policemen, dressed up in tight
jackets and Russian caps.

The ceremony took place in the full heat of midday; Chrysantheme and
her mother arrived together, and I alone. We seemed to have met for
the purpose of ratifying some discreditable contract, and the two women
trembled in the presence of these ugly little men, who, in their eyes,
were the personification of the law.

In the middle of their official scrawl, they made me write in French my
name, Christian name, and profession. Then they gave me an extraordinary
document on a sheet of rice-paper, which set forth the permission
granted me by the civilian authorities of the island of Kiu-Siu, to
inhabit a house situated in the suburb of Diou-djen-dji, with a person
called Chrysantheme, the said permission being under the protection of
the police during the whole of my stay in Japan.

In the evening, however, in our own quarter, our little marriage became
a very pretty affair--a procession carrying lanterns, a festive tea and
some music. All this seemed quite necessary.

Now we are almost an old married couple, and we are gently settling down
into everyday habits.

Chrysantheme tends the flowers in our bronze vases, dresses herself with
studied care, proud of her socks with the divided big toe, and strums
all day on a kind of long-necked guitar, producing sweet and plaintive
sounds.

CHAPTER VI. MY NEW MENAGE

In our home, everything l