trembling hand she indicates to me that it will come through the
verandah, over Madame Prune's roof. Certainly, I can hear faint
noises, and they do approach nearer.

I suggest to her:

"_Neko-San?_" ("It is Messrs. the cats?")

"No!" she replies, still terrified and in an alarming tone.

"_Bakémono-Sama?_" ("Is it my lords the ghosts?") I have already the
Japanese habit of expressing myself with excessive politeness.

'No!!" _"Dorobo!!"_("Thieves!!") Thieves! Ah this is better; I much
prefer this to a visit such as I have just been, dreading in the
sudden awakening from sleep: from ghosts or spirits of the dead;
thieves, that is to say, worthy fellows very much alive, and having
undoubtedly, in as much as they are Japanese thieves, faces of the
most meritorious oddity. I am not in the least frightened, now that I
know precisely what to expect, and we will immediately set to work to
ascertain the truth, for something is decidedly moving on Madame
Prune's roof; some one is walking upon it.

I open one of our wooden panels and look out.

I can see only a vast expanse, calm, peaceful, and exquisite under the
full brilliancy of the moonlight; sleeping Japan lulled by the
sonorous song of the grasshoppers is charming indeed to-night, and the
free pure air is delicious to breathe.