an image, a little vase, a little porcelain goddess of the Moon in
Satsuma ware, a marvelously grotesque ivory figure;--I tremblingly
follow her into the dark corners whither she calls me to give me these
presents in a _tête-à-tête_.

At about nine o'clock, with a silken rustling, arrive the three
guéchas in vogue in Nagasaki: Mdlles. Pureté, Orange, and Printemps,
whom I have hired at four dollars a head,--an enormous price in this
country.

These three guéchas are indeed the very same little creatures I heard
singing on the rainy day of my arrival, through the thin paneling of
the _Garden of Flowers_. But as I have now become thoroughly
_Japanized_, to-day they appear to me more diminutive, less
outlandish, and in no way mysterious. I treat them rather as dancers
that I have hired, and the idea that I had ever thought of marrying
one of them now makes me shrug my shoulders,--as it formerly did M.
Kangourou.

The excessive heat caused by the respiration of the mousmés and the
burning lamps, brings out the perfume of the lotus, which fills the
heavy-laden atmosphere; and the scent of the camelia-oil the ladies
use in profusion to make their hair glisten, is also strong in the
room.

Mdlle. Orange, the youngest guécha, tiny and dainty, her lips outlined
with gilt paint, executes some delightful steps, donning the most
extraordinary wigs and masks in wood or cardboard. She has masks
imitating old noble ladies which are valuable works of art, signed by
well-known artists. She has also magnificent long robes, fashioned in