or another, our stay in Japan is coming to an end. It is this perhaps
which disposes me this evening, to throw a more friendly glance on my
surroundings. It is about six o'clock, after a day spent on duty, when
I reach Diou-djen-dji. The evening sun, low in the sky, on the point
of setting, pours into my room, and floods it with rays of red gold,
lighting up the Buddhas and the great sheaves of quaintly arranged
flowers in the antique vases. Here are assembled five or six little
dolls, my neighbors, amusing themselves by dancing to the sound of
Chrysanthème's guitar. And this evening I experience a real charm in
feeling that this dwelling and the woman who leads the dance, are
mine. On the whole I have perhaps been unjust to this country; it
seems to me that my eyes are at last opened to see it in its true
light, that all my senses are undergoing a strange and abrupt
transition; I suddenly have a better perception and appreciation of
all the infinity of dainty trifles amongst which I live; of the
fragile and studied grace of their forms, the oddity of their
drawings, the refined choice of their colors.

I stretch myself upon the white mats; Chrysanthème, always eagerly
attentive, brings me my pillow of serpent's skin; and the smiling
mousmés, with the interrupted rhythm of a while ago still running in
their heads, move round me with measured steps.

Their irreproachable socks with the separate great toes, make no
noise; nothing is heard, as they glide by, but a froufrou of silken
stuffs. I find them all pleasant to look upon; their dollish air has
the gift of pleasing me now, and I fancy I have discovered what it is
that gives it to them: it is not only their round inexpressive faces
with eyebrows far removed from the eyelids, but the excessive
amplitude of their dress. With those huge sleeves, it might be