"I beg you, mousmé, this evening to take the arm of Yves-San; I am
sure that will suit us all three."

And there they go, she, tiny figure, hanging on to the big fellow, and
so they climb up. I lead the way, carrying the lantern that lights our
steps, and whose flame I protect as well as I can under my fantastic
umbrella. On each side of the road is heard the roaring torrent of
stormy waters rolling down from the mountain side. To-night the way
seems long, difficult and slippery; a succession of interminable
flights of steps, gardens and houses piled up one above another; waste
lands, and trees which in the darkness shake their dripping foliage on
our heads.

One would say that Nagasaki is ascending at the same time as
ourselves; but yonder, and very far away, in a kind of vapory mist
which seems luminous on the blackness of the sky; and from the town
there rises a confused murmur of voices and rumbling of gongs and
laughter.

The summer rain has not yet refreshed the atmosphere. On account of
the stormy heat, the little suburban houses have been left open like
sheds, and we can see all that is going on. Lamps ever lighted burn
before the altars dedicated to Buddha and to the souls of the
ancestors; but all good Niponese have already lain down to rest. Under
the traditional tents of bluish-green gauze, we can see them,
stretched out in rows by whole families; they are either sleeping, or
hunting the mosquitoes, or fanning themselves. Niponese men and women,
Niponese babies too, lying side by side with their parents; each one,
young or old, in his little dark-blue cotton night-dress, and with his