mere words could never express all I felt, and I vainly struggled
against my own incompetence to render, in human language, the
penetrating charm surrounding me.

Here, on the contrary, words exact and truthful in themselves seem
always too thrilling, too great for the subject; seem to embellish it
unduly. I feel as if I were acting, for my own benefit, some
wretchedly trivial and third-rate comedy; and whenever I try to
consider my home in a serious spirit, the scoffing figure of M.
Kangourou rises up before me, the matrimonial agent, to whom I am
indebted for my happiness.




IX.


_July 12th_.

Yves comes up to us whenever he is free, in the evening at five
o'clock, after his work on board.

He is our only European visitor, and with the exception of a few
civilities and cups of tea, exchanged with our neighbors, we lead a
very retired life. Only in the evenings, winding our way through the
precipitous little streets and carrying our lanterns at the end of
short sticks, we go down to Nagasaki in search of amusement at the
theaters, at the "tea-houses," or in the bazaars.