In the midst of the calm and silence of the night, I strove to recall my
poignant impressions of Stamboul; but, alas, I strove in vain, they would
not return to me in this strange, far-off world. Through the transparent
blue gauze appeared my little Japanese, as she lay in her sombre night-
robe with all the fantastic grace of her country, the nape of her neck
resting on its wooden block, and her hair arranged in large, shiny bows.
Her amber-tinted arms, pretty and delicate, emerged, bare up to the
shoulders, from her wide sleeves.

"What can those mice on the roof have done to him?" thought
Chrysantheme. Of course she could not understand. In a coaxing manner,
like a playful kitten, she glanced at me with her half-closed eyes,
inquiring why I did not come back to sleep--and I returned to my place
by her side.




CHAPTER XI

A GAME OF ARCHERY

July 14th.

This is the National Fete day of France. In Nagasaki Harbor, all the
ships are adorned with flags, and salutes are fired in our honor.

Alas! All day long, I can not help thinking of that last fourteenth of
July, spent in the deep calm and quiet of my old home, the door shut