restlessly over the white mats, striding up and down the great bare
room, of which the thin, dry flooring cracks beneath our footsteps; we
are both of us rather irritated by prolonged expectation. Yves, whose
impatience shows itself the most freely, from time to time takes a
look out of the window. As for myself, a chill suddenly seizes me, at
the idea that I have chosen, and purpose to inhabit this lonely house,
lost in the midst of the suburb of a totally strange town, perched
high on the mountain and almost opening upon the woods.

What wild notion can have taken possession of me, to settle myself in
surroundings so utterly foreign and unknown, breathing of isolation
and sadness? The waiting unnerves me, and I beguile the time by
examining all the little details of the building. The woodwork of the
ceiling is complicated and ingenious. On the partitions of white paper
which form the walls, are scattered tiny, microscopic, blue-feathered
tortoises.

"They are late," said Yves, who is still looking out into the street.

As to being late, that they certainly are, by a good hour already, and
night is falling, and the boat which should take us back to dine on
board will be gone. Probably we shall have to sup, Japanese fashion
to-night, heaven only knows where. The people of this country have no
sense of punctuality, or of the value of time.

Therefore I continue to inspect the minute and comical details of my
dwelling. Here, instead of handles such as we should have put to pull
these movable partitions, they have made little oval holes, just the
shape of a finger-end, and into which one is evidently to put one's
thumb. These little holes have a bronze ornamentation, and on looking