ch formed a terrace halfway up the
hill, and at the extremity of which was situated the
_Donko-Tchaya_,--in English: _the tea-house of the Toads_.

It was here that Chrysantheme was taking us. We sat down at a table,
under a black linen tent, decorated with large white letters (of
funereal aspect), and two laughing _mousmes_ hurried up to wait upon
us.

The word _mousme_ means a young girl, or very young woman. It is one
of the prettiest words in the Niponese language; it seems almost as if
there were a little _moue_[C] in the very sound, and as if a pretty
taking little pout such as they put on, and also a little pert
physiognomy, were described by it. I shall often make use of it,
knowing none other in our own language that conveys the same meaning.

[Footnote C: _Moue_ means "pout" in French.]

Some Japanese Watteau must have mapped out this _Donko-Tchaya_, for it
has rather an affected air of rurality, though very pretty. Well
shaded, under a thick vault of large trees densely foliaged, a
miniature lake hard by, the chosen residence of a few toads, has given
it its attractive denomination. Lucky toads, who crawl and croak on
the finest of moss, in the midst of tiny artificial islets decked with
gardenias in full bloom. From time to time, one of them informs us of
his thoughts by a "Couac," uttered in a deep bass croak infinitely
more hollow than that of our own toads.

* * * * *

Under the tent of this tea-house, we are as it were on a balcony
jutting out from the mountain side, overhanging from on high the
grayish town and its suburbs buried in greenery. Around, above and
beneath us cling and hang on every possible point, clumps of trees and
fresh green woods, with the delicate and varying foliage of the
temperate zone. Then we can see, at our feet, the deep roadstead,
fore-shortened and slanting, diminished in appearance till it looks
like a terrible somber tear in the mass of large green mountains; and
further still, quite low down, on the waters which seem black and
stagnant, are to be seen, very tiny and overwhelmed, the men-of-war,
the steamboats and the junks, flags flying from every mast. On the
dark green, which is the dominant shade around, stand out these
thousand scraps of bunting, emblems of the different nationalities,
all displayed, all flying in honor of far-distant France. The colors
most prevailing in this motley assemblage are the white flag with a
red ball,