In our dwelling, open as it is all the night through, the lamps
burning before the gilded Buddha procure us the company of the insect
inhabitants of every garden in the neighborhood. Moths, mosquitoes,
cicalas, and other extraordinary insects of which I don't even know
the names,--all this company assembles around us.

It is extremely funny, when some unexpected grasshopper, some
free-and-easy beetle presents itself without invitation or excuse,
scampering over our white mats, to see the manner in which
Chrysanthème indicates it to my righteous vengeance,--merely pointing
her finger at it, without another word than "Hou!" said with bent
head, a particular pout, and a scandalized air.

There is a fan kept expressly for the purpose of blowing them out of
doors again.




XVI.


Here, I must own, that to the reader of my story it must appear to
drag a little.

In default of exciting intrigues and tragic adventures, I would fain
have known how to infuse into it a little of the sweet perfumes of the
gardens which surround me, something of the gentle warmth of the
sunshine, of the shade of these graceful trees. Love being wanting, I
should like it to breathe of the restful tranquillity of this far-away