I look over his shoulder, and I see--a back view of a little doll the
finishing touches to whose toilette are being put in the solitary
street; a last maternal glance given to the enormous bows of the sash,
the folds at the waist. Her dress is of pearl-gray silk, her _obi_
(sash) of mauve satin; a sprig of silver flowers trembles in her black
hair; a parting ray of sunlight touches the little figure; five or six
persons accompany her. Yes! it is undoubtedly Mdlle. Jasmin; they are
bringing me my _fiancée_!

I rush to the ground floor inhabited by old Madame Prune my landlady,
and her aged husband; they are absorbed in prayer before the altar of
their ancestors.

"Here they are, Madame Prune," I cry in Japanese; "here they are!
Bring at once the tea, the lamp, the embers, the little pipes for the
ladies, the little bamboo pots for spittoons! Bring us as quickly as
possible all the accessories for my reception!"

I hear the front door open, and hasten upstairs again. Wooden clogs
are deposited on the floor, the staircase creaks gently under the
little bare feet. Yves and I look at each other, with a longing to
laugh.

An old lady enters,--two old ladies,--three old ladies, emerging from
the doorway one after another with jerking and mechanical
salutations, which we return as best we can, fully conscious of our
inferiority in this particular style. Then come persons of
intermediate age,--then quite young ones, a dozen at least, friends,
neighbors, the whole quarter in fact. And the whole company, on
arriving, becomes confusedly engaged in reciprocal salutations: I