held, and the strings by which they are tied getting entangled
together. In an exaggerated pantomime, Madame Très-Propre expresses
her despair at wasting so much of our valuable time: oh! if it only
depended on her personal efforts! but ah, for the natural perversity
of inanimate things which have no consideration for human dignity.
With monkeyish antics, she even deems it her duty to threaten the
lanterns and shake her fist at these inextricably tangled strings
which have the presumption to delay us. It is all very well, but we
know this maneuver by heart; and if the old lady loses patience, so do
we. Chrysanthème, who is half asleep, is seized with a fit of
kitten-like yawning which she does not even trouble to hide behind
her hand, and which appears to be endless. She pulls a very long face,
at the thought of the steep hill we must struggle up to-night through
the pelting rain.

[Footnote E: In Japanese: _O Séï-San_.]

I have the same feeling, and am thoroughly annoyed.

To what purpose, good heavens, do I clamber up every evening to that
suburb, when it offers me no attraction whatever?

The rain increases, what are we to do? Outside, djins pass rapidly by,
calling out: "Take care!" splashing the foot-passengers and casting
through the shower streams of light from their many-colored lanterns.
Mousmés and elderly ladies pass by, tucked up, muddy, laughing
nevertheless, under their paper umbrellas, exchanging greetings,
clacking their wooden pattens on the stone pavement; the whole street
is filled with the noise of the pattering feet and pattering rain.