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.