beneath a kind of veil, and carrying in vases of the sacred shape the
artificial lotus with silver petals indispensable at a funeral; then come
fine ladies, on foot, smirking and stifling a wish to laugh, beneath
parasols on which are painted, in the gayest colors, butterflies and
storks.

Now they are quite close to us, we must stand back to give them room.
Chrysantheme all at once assumes a suitable air of gravity, and Yves
bares his head, taking off the magpie's nest.

Yes, it is true, it is death that is passing!

I had almost lost sight of the fact, so little does this procession
recall it.

The procession will climb high above Nagasaki, into the heart of the
green mountain covered with tombs. There the poor fellow will be laid at
rest, with his palanquin above him, and his vases and his flowers of
silvered paper. Well, at least he will lie in a charming spot commanding
a lovely view.

Then they will return half laughing, half snivelling, and tomorrow no one
will think of it again.




CHAPTER XXIV

SOCIABILITY