We speak, first of all, of the order for departure which may arrive at
any moment, for China or for France. Soon we shall have to leave this
easy and almost amusing life, this Japanese suburb where chance has
installed us, and our little house buried among flowers. Yves perhaps
will regret all this more than I shall, I know that well enough; for
it is the first time that any such interlude has broken the rude
monotony of his hard-worked career. Formerly, when in an inferior
rank, he was scarcely more often on shore, in foreign countries, than
the sea-gulls themselves; whilst I have, from the very beginning, been
spoilt by residence in all sorts of charming spots, infinitely
superior to this, in all sorts of countries, and the remembrance
pleasurably haunts me still.

In order to discover how the land lies, I risk the remark:

"You will perhaps be more sorry to leave this little Chrysanthème than
I am?"

Silence reigns between us.

After which I pursue, and, burning my ships, I add:

"You know, after all, if you have such a fancy for her, I haven't
really married her; one can't really consider her my wife."

In great surprise he looks in my face:

"Not your wife, you say? But, by Jove, though, that's just it; she is
your wife."