verandah, and we gaze down into the depths below us, upon a misty and
vague Nagasaki, a Nagasaki melting into a blue haze of darkness.

Then ensue long discourses in Japanese, arguments without end. M.
Kangourou, who is washerman and low scamp in French only, has returned
for these discussions to the long formulas of his country. From time
to time I express impatience, I ask this worthy creature whom I am
less and less able to consider in a serious light:

"Come now, tell us frankly, Kangourou, are we any nearer coming to
some arrangement? is all this ever going to end?"

"In a moment, sir, in a moment;" and he resumes his air of political
economist seriously debating social problems.

Well, one must submit to the slowness of this people. And, while the
darkness falls like a veil over the Japanese town, I have leisure to
reflect, with as much melancholy as I please, upon the bargain that is
being concluded behind me.

* * * * *

Night has closed in, deep night; it has been necessary to light the
lamps.

It is ten o'clock when all is finally settled, and M. Kangourou comes
to tell me:

"All is arranged, sir: her parents will give her up for twenty
dollars a month,--the same price as Mdlle. Jasmin."