my own, there are a dozen of them, seated in a circle on the ground,
attired in long blue cotton dresses with pagoda sleeves, long, sleek
and greasy hair surmounted by European pot hats; and beneath these,
yellow, worn out, bloodless, foolish faces. On the floor are a number
of little spirit-lamps, little pipes, little lacquer trays, little
tea-pots, little cups--all the accessories and all the remains of a
Japanese feast, resembling nothing so much as a doll's tea-party. In
the midst of this circle of dandies are three over-dressed women, one
might say three weird visions, robed in garments of pale and
undefinable colors, embroidered with golden monsters; and their great
chignons arranged with fantastic art, stuck full of pins and flowers.
Two are seated and turn their back to me: one is holding the guitar,
the other singing with that soft and pretty voice;--thus seen
furtively, from behind, their pose, their hair, the nape of the neck,
all is exquisite, and I tremble lest a movement should reveal to me
faces which might destroy the enchantment. The third one is on her
feet, dancing before this areopagus of idiots, with their lanky locks
and pot hats. What a shock when she turns round! She wears over her
face the horribly grinning, deathly mask of a specter or vampire. The
mask unfastened, falls. And behold! a darling little fairy of about
twelve or fifteen years of age, slim, and already a coquette, already
a woman,--dressed in a long robe of shaded dark blue china crape,
covered with embroidery representing bats--gray bats, black bats,
golden bats.

Suddenly there are steps on the stairs, the light footsteps of
barefooted women pattering over the white mats. No doubt the first
course of my lunch just about to be served. I quickly fall back, fixed
and motionless, upon my black velvet cushion. There are three of them
now, three waiting-maids who arrive in single file, with smiles and