Let us go to the end of the terrace, contemplate the roadstead at our feet, and then return home. To-night the harbor looks only like a dark and sinister rent, which the moonbeams cannot fathom,--a yawning crevasse opening into the very bowels of the earth, at the bottom of which lie faint and small glimmers, an assembly of glow-worms in a ditch--the lights of the different vessels lying at anchor. XLVII. It is the middle of the night, somewhere about two in the morning. Our night-lamps are burning still, a little dimly, in front of our peaceful idols. Chrysanthème wakes me suddenly, and I turn to look at her: she has raised herself on one arm, and her face expresses the most intense terror; she makes me a sign, without daring to speak, that someone is near, or something, creeping up to us. What ill-timed visit is this? A feeling of fear gains possession of me also. I have a rapid impression of some immense unknown danger, in this isolated spot, in this strange country of which I do not even yet comprehend the inhabitants and the mysteries. It must be something very frightful, to hold her there, rooted to the spot, half dead with fright, she who _does_ comprehend all these things. It would seem to be outside: it is coming from the garden; with trembling hand she indicates to me that it will come through the verandah, over Madame Prune's roof. Certainly, I can hear faint noises, and they do approach nearer. I suggest to her: "_Neko-San?_" ("It is Messrs. the cats?") "No!" she replies, still terrified and in an alarming tone. "_Bakémono-Sama?_" ("Is it my lords the ghosts?") I have already the Japanese habit of expressing myself with excessive politeness. 'No!!" _"Dorobo!!"_("Thieves!!") Thieves! Ah this is better; I much prefer this to a visit such as I have just been, dreading in the sudden awakening from sleep: from ghosts or spirits of the dead; thieves, that is to say, worthy fellows very much alive, and having undoubtedly, in as much as they are Japanese thieves, faces of the most meritorious oddity. I am not in the least frightened, now that I know precisely what to expect, and we will immediately set to work to ascertain the truth, for something is decidedly moving on Madame Prune's roof; some one is walking upon it. I open one of our wooden panels and look out. I can see only a vast expanse, calm, peaceful, and exquisite under the full brilliancy of the moonlight; sleeping Japan lulled by the sonorous song of the grasshoppers is charming indeed to-night, and the free pure air is delicious to breathe.