There they are, sleeping in a row under their blue gauze tent, lighted
by the night-lamps burning before the altars of their ancestors. Ha! I
observe that they are arranged in an order which might give rise to
gossip. First comes Mdlle. Oyouki, very taking in her attitude of
rest. Then Madame Prune, who sleeps with her mouth wide open, showing
her rows of blackened teeth; from her throat arises an intermittent
sound like the grunting of a sow. Oh! poor Madame Prune! how hideous
she is!! Next, M. Sucre, a mere mummy for the time being. And finally,
at his side, last of the row, is their servant, Mdlle. Dédé!!!

The gauze hanging over them throws reflections as of the sea upon
them; one might suppose them victims drowned in an aquarium. And
withal the sacred lamps, the altar crowded with strange Shintoist
symbols, give a mock religious air to this family picture.

_Honi soit qui mal y pense_, but why is not that servant-girl rather
laid by the side of her mistresses? Now, when we on the floor above
offer our hospitality to Yves, we are careful to place ourselves under
our mosquito-net in a more correct style.

One corner, which as a last resort we inspect, inspires me with a
certain amount of apprehension. It is a low, mysterious loft, against
the door of which is stuck, as a thing no longer wanted, a very old
pious image: _Kwanon with the thousand arms, and Kwanon with the
horses' head_, seated among clouds and flames, and horrible both of
them to behold, with their spectral grin.

We open the door, and Chrysanthème starts back uttering a fearful cry.
I should have thought the robbers were there, had I not seen a little
grey creature, rapid and noiseless, rush by her and disappear; a young