This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
Additional proofing by Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com
By PIERRE LOTI
It is the middle of the night, perhaps about two o'clock in the morning.Our lamps are burning somewhat dimly before our placid idols.Chrysantheme wakes me suddenly, and I turn to look at her: she has raisedherself on one arm, and her face expresses the most intense terror; shemakes a sign, without daring to speak, that some one or something isnear, creeping up to us. What ill-timed visit is this? A feeling offear gains possession of me also. I have a rapid impression of somegreat unknown danger, in this isolated spot, in this strange country ofwhich I do not even yet comprehend the inhabitants and the mysteries.It must be something very frightful to hold her there, rooted to thespot, half dead with fright, she who does comprehend all these things.
It seems to be outside; it is coming from the garden; with trembling handshe indicates to me that it will come through the veranda, over MadamePrune's roof. Certainly, I hear faint noises, and they do approach us.
I suggest to her
"Neko-San?" ("It is Messieurs the cats?")
"No!" she replies, still terrified, and in an alarmed tone.
"Bakemono-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 Ihave just been dreading in the sudden awakening from sleep: from ghostsor spirits of the dead; thieves, that is to say, worthy fellows very muchalive, and having, undoubtedly, inasmuch 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 towork to ascertain the truth, for something is certainly moving on MadamePrune'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 thefull brilliance of the moonlight; sleeping Japan, lulled by the sonoroussong of the grasshoppers, is charming indeed to-night, and the free, pureair is delicious.
Chrysantheme, half hidden behind my shoulder, listens tremblingly,peering forward to examine the gardens and the roofs with dilated eyeslike a frightened cat. No, nothing! not a thing moves. Here and thereare a few strangely substantial shadows, which at first glance were noteasy to explain, but which turn out to be real shadows, thrown by bits ofwall, by boughs of trees, and which preserve an extremely reassuringstillness. Everything seems absolutely tranquil, and profound silencereigns in the dreamy vagueness which moonlight sheds over all.
Nothing; nothing to be seen anywhere. It was Messieurs the cats afterall, or perhaps my ladies the owls; sounds increase in volume in the mostamazing manner at night, in this house of ours.
Let us close the panel again carefully, as a measure of prudence, andthen light a lantern and go downstairs to see whether there may be anyone hidden in corners, and whether the doors are tightly shut; in short,to reassure Chrysantheme we will go the round of the house.
Behold us, then, on tiptoe, searching together every hole a