As a fortunate diversion from the singer and the hat, here comes a cortège, advancing towards us from the end of the street, something remarkably like a funeral. Bonzes march in front dressed in robes of black gauze, having much the appearance of Catholic priests; the principal personage of the procession, the corpse, comes last, laid in a sort of little closed palanquin which is daintily pretty. This is followed by a band of mousmés, hiding their laughing faces 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. Chrysanthème 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 by! I had almost lost sight of the fact, so little does this recall it. The procession will climb high up, far away above Nagasaki, into the heart of the green mountain all peopled 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 the poor defunct will lie in a charming spot commanding a lovely view. They will now return half laughing, half sniveling, and to-morrow no one will think of it again. XXIV. _August 4th_. The _Triomphante_, which has been lying in the roadsteads almost at the foot of the hill on which stands my house, enters the dock to-day to undergo repairs rendered necessary by the long blockade of Formosa. I am now a long way from my home, and obliged to cross by boat the whole breadth of the bay when I wish to see Chrysanthème; for the dock is situated on the shore opposite to Diou-djen-dji. It is sunk in a little valley, narrow and deep, midst all kinds of foliage,--bamboos, camellias, trees of all sorts; our masts and spars, seen from the deck, look as if they were tangled among the branches. The situation of the vessel--no longer afloat--gives the crew a greater facility for clandestine escapes from the ship at no matter what hour of the night, and our sailors have made friends with all the girls of the villages perched on the mountains above us. These quarters and his excessive liberty, give me some uneasiness about my poor Yves; for this country of frivolous pleasure has a little turned his head. Moreover, I am more and more convinced that he is in love with Chrysanthème. It is really a pity that the sentiment has not occurred to me instead, since it is I who have gone the length of marrying her. XXV.