his thoughts by a "Couac," uttered in a deep bass croak infinitely
more hollow than that of our own toads.

* * * * *

Under the tent of this tea-house, we are as it were on a balcony
jutting out from the mountain side, overhanging from on high the
grayish town and its suburbs buried in greenery. Around, above and
beneath us cling and hang on every possible point, clumps of trees and
fresh green woods, with the delicate and varying foliage of the
temperate zone. Then we can see, at our feet, the deep roadstead,
fore-shortened and slanting, diminished in appearance till it looks
like a terrible somber tear in the mass of large green mountains; and
further still, quite low down, on the waters which seem black and
stagnant, are to be seen, very tiny and overwhelmed, the men-of-war,
the steamboats and the junks, flags flying from every mast. On the
dark green, which is the dominant shade around, stand out these
thousand scraps of bunting, emblems of the different nationalities,
all displayed, all flying in honor of far-distant France. The colors
most prevailing in this motley assemblage are the white flag with a
red ball, emblem of the _Empire of the Rising Sun_, where we now are.

* * * * *

With the exception of three or four mousmés at the further end who are
practicing with bows and arrows, we are to-day the only people in the
garden, and the mountain round about is silent.

Having finished her cigarette and her cup of tea, Chrysanthème also
wishes to exert her skill; for archery is still held in honor among