As good luck will have it, at the same moment passes 415, our poor
relative, who, seeing our distress, stops and promises to help us out
of our difficulty; as soon as he has deposited on the quay an
Englishman he is conveying, he will come to our aid and bring all that
is necessary to relieve us from our lamentable situation.

At last our lantern is unhooked, lighted, and paid for. There is
another shop opposite, where we stop every evening; it is Madame
L'Heure's,[F] the woman who sells waffles; we always buy a provision
from her, to refresh us on the way. A very lively young woman is this
pastry-cook, and most anxious to make herself agreeable; she looks
quite like a screen picture, behind her piled-up cakes, ornamented
with little posies. We will take shelter under her roof while we wait;
and, to avoid the drops that fall heavily from the water-spouts, wedge
ourselves tightly against her display of white and pink sweetmeats, so
artistically spread out on fresh and delicate branches of cypress.

[Footnote F: In Japanese: _Tôki-San_.]

Poor 415, what a providence he is to us! Already he re-appears, most
excellent cousin, ever smiling, ever running, while the water streams
down his handsome bare legs; he brings us two umbrellas, borrowed from
a China merchant, who is also a distant relative of ours. Like me,
Yves has till now never consented to use such a thing, but he now
accepts one because it is droll: in paper, of course, with innumerable
folds waxed and gummed, and the inevitable flight of storks forming a
wreath all round.

Chrysanthème, yawning more and more in her kitten-like fashion,
becomes coaxing in order to be helped along, and tries to take my arm: