chain in the darkness, to haul on board all my fragile luggage.




CHAPTER LII

"FAREWELL!"

September 18th.

I intended to sleep late this morning, in order to make up for my lost
sleep of last night.

But at eight o'clock three persons of the most extraordinary appearance,
led by M. Kangourou, present themselves with profound bows at the door of
my cabin. They are arrayed in long robes bedizened with dark patterns;
they have the flowing locks, high foreheads, and pallid countenances of
persons too exclusively devoted to the fine arts; and, perched on the top
of their coiffures, they wear sailor hats of English shape tipped
jauntily on one side. Tucked under their arms, they carry portfolios
filled with sketches; in their hands are boxes of water-colors, pencils,
and, bound together like fasces, a bundle of fine stylets with the sharp
and glittering points.

At the first glance, even in the bewilderment of waking up, I gather from
their appearance what their errand is, and guessing with what visitors I
have to deal, I say: "Come in, Messieurs the tattooers!"

These are the specialists most in renown in Nagasaki; I had engaged them