us:
our landlord's family returning from a pilgrimage to a far-distant
temple of the Goddess of Grace. (Although Madame Prune is a Shintoist,
she reveres this deity, who, scandal says, watched over her youth.) A
moment after, Mdlle. Oyouki bursts into our room like a rocket,
bringing, on a charming little tray, sweetmeats which have been
blessed and bought at the gates of the temple yonder, on purpose for
us, and which we must positively eat at once, before the virtue is
gone out of them. Scarcely rousing ourselves, we absorb these little
edibles flavored with sugar and pepper, and return a great many sleepy
thanks.

Yves sleeps quietly on this occasion, without dealing any blows to the
floor or the panels either with fists or feet. He has hung his watch
on one of the hands of our gilded idol in order to be more sure of
seeing the hour at any time of the night, by the light of the sacred
lamps. He gets up betimes in the morning, asking: "Well, did I behave
properly?" and dresses in haste, preoccupied about duty and the
roll-call.

Outside, no doubt, it is daylight already: through the tiny holes
which time has pierced in our wooden panels, threads of morning light
penetrate our chamber, and in the atmosphere of our room where night
still lingers, they trace vague white rays. Soon, when the sun shall
have risen, these rays will lengthen and become beautifully golden.
The cocks and the cicalas make themselves heard, and now Madame Prune
will begin her mystic drone.

Nevertheless, out of politeness for Yves-San, Chrysantheme lights a
lantern and escorts him to the foot of the dark staircase. I even
fancy that, on parting, I hear a kiss exchanged. In Japan this is of
no consequence, that I know; it is very usual, and quite admissible;
no matter where one goes, in houses one enters for the first time, one
is quite at liberty to kiss any mousme who may be present, without any
notice being taken of it. But with regard to Chrysantheme, Yves is in
a delicate position, and he ought to understand it better. I begin to
feel uneasy about the hours they have so often spent together alone;
and I make up my mind, that this very day I will not play the spy
upon them, but speak frankly to Yves, and make a clear breast of it.

All at once from below, _clac! clac!_ two dry hands clapped together;
it is Madame Prune's warning to the Great Spirit. And immediately
after her prayer breaks forth, soars upwards in a shrill nasal
falsetto,