This evening, in a dull twilight, notwithstanding that it is a twilight of July, these things are melancholy.

Great clouds heavy with rain and showers, ready to fall, are travelling across the sky.

No, I can not feel at home in this strange dwelling I have chosen; I feel sensations of extreme solitude and strangeness; the mere prospect of passing the night in it gives me a shudder of horror.
"Ah! at last, brother," said Yves, "I believe--yes, I really believe she is coming at last." I look over his shoulder, and I see a back view of a little doll, the finishing touches to whose toilette are being put in the solitary street; a last maternal glance is given the enormous bows of the sash, the folds at the waist.

Her dress is of pearl-gray silk, her obi (sash) of mauve satin; a sprig of silver flowers trembles in her black hair; a parting ray of sunlight touches the little figure; five or six persons accompany her.

Yes! it is undoubtedly Mademoiselle Jasmin; they are bringing me my fiancee! I rush to the ground floor, inhabited by old Madame Prune, my landlady, and her aged husband; they are absorbed in prayer before the altar of their ancestors.
"Here they are, Madame Prune," I cry in Japanese; "here they are! Bring at once the tea, the lamp, the embers, the little pipes for the ladies, the little bamboo pots! Bring up, as quickly as possible, all the accessories for my reception!" I hear the front door open, and hasten upstairs again.