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Just below us, Madame Prune's panels move very badly, creak and make a hideous noise in their wornout grooves. Ours are somewhat noisy too, for the old house is full of echoes, and there are at least twenty screens to run over long slides in order to close in completely the kind of open hall in which we live.
Every day, therefore, I climb up to my villa, sometimes by beautiful starlit nights, sometimes through downpours of rain. Every morning as the sound of Madame Prune's chanted prayer rises through the reverberating air, I awake and go down toward the sea, by grassy pathways full of dew. The chief occupation in Japan seems to be a perpetual hunt after curios.
Above all, rises to our ears from below the sound of Madame Prune's long prayers, ascending through the floor, monotonous as the song of a somnambulist, regular and soothing as the plash of a fountain.
I begin to feel uneasy about the hours they have so often spent together alone; and I make up my mind that this very day I will not play the spy upon them, but speak frankly to Yves, and make a clean breast of it. Suddenly from below, clac! clac! two dry hands are clapped together; it is Madame Prune's warning to the Great Spirit.
Above all, rises to our ears from below the sound of Madame Prune's long prayers, ascending through the floor, monotonous as the song of a somnambulist, regular and soothing as the plash of a fountain.
Every day, therefore, I climb up to my villa, sometimes by beautiful starlit nights, sometimes through downpours of rain. Every morning as the sound of Madame Prune's chanted prayer rises through the reverberating air, I awake and go down toward the sea, by grassy pathways full of dew. The chief occupation in Japan seems to be a perpetual hunt after curios.
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 certainly moving on Madame Prune's roof; some one is walking upon it. I open one of our wooden panels and look out.
As for Madame Prune's comb, I confess it left me indifferent, and I turned a deaf ear, thinking it very insignificant and expensive. Then Chrysanthème answered mournfully: "No, thank you, I don't want it; take it away, dear Madame Prune." And at the same time she heaved a deep sigh, full of meaning, which plainly said: "He is not so fond of me as all that. Useless to bother him."
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 certainly moving on Madame Prune's roof; some one is walking upon it. I open one of our wooden panels and look out.
Above all, rises to our ears from below the sound of Madame Prune's long prayers, ascending through the floor, monotonous as the song of a somnambulist, regular and soothing as the splash of a fountain.
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