"Anata bakari!" ("Thou alone!" that is to say: "There is no one like you
in the world, all the rest are mere rubbish!")

Madame Prune says nothing, but I can see that she does not think the
less; her languishing attitudes, her hand that at each moment gently
touches mine, confirm the suspicions that her look of dismay a few
moments ago awoke within me: evidently my physical charms speak to her
imagination, which in spite of years has remained full of romance!
I shall leave with the regret of having understood her too late!

Although the ladies are satisfied with my sketch, I am far from being so.
I have put everything in its place most exactly, but as a whole, it has
an ordinary, indifferent, French look which does not suit. The sentiment
is not given, and I almost wonder whether I should not have done better
to falsify the perspective--Japanese style--exaggerating to the very
utmost the already abnormal outlines of what I see before me. And then
the pictured dwelling lacks the fragile look and its sonority, that
reminds one of a dry violin. In the pencilled delineation of the
woodwork, the minute delicacy with which it is wrought is wanting;
neither have I been able to give an idea of the extreme antiquity, the
perfect cleanliness, nor the vibrating song of the cicalas that seems to
have been stored away within it, in its parched-up fibres, during
hundreds of summers. It does not convey, either, the impression this
place gives of being in a far-off suburb, perched aloft among trees,
above the drollest of towns. No, all this can not be drawn, can not be
expressed, but remains undemonstrable, indefinable.

Having sent out our invitations, we shall, in spite of everything, give
our tea-party this evening--a parting tea, therefore, in which we shall