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Updated: June 3, 2025
And she, who has followed our eyes and begins to guess what is on foot, lowers her head in confusion, with a more decided but more charming pout, and tries to step back, half-sulky, half-smiling. "It makes no difference," continues M. Kangourou, "it can be arranged just as well with this one; she is not married either, Monsieur!" She is not married!
In reality, however, I am not charmed; it is only Chrysantheme, always Chrysantheme, nothing but Chrysantheme: a mere plaything to laugh at, a little creature of finical forms and thoughts, with whom the agency of M. Kangourou has supplied me.
Nevertheless, my discomfited air does not escape my visitors. M. Kangourou anxiously inquires: "How do you like her?" And I reply in a low voice, but with great resolution: "Not at all! I won't have that one. Never!" I believe that this remark was almost understood in the circle around me. Consternation was depicted on every face, jaws dropped, and pipes went out.
This arrangement is quite an ordinary occurrence, and is brought about without difficulties, mystery, or danger, through the offices of the same M. Kangourou. As a matter of course, we are on visiting terms with all these ladies.
The wish to laugh leaves me suddenly, and instead, a profound chill seizes my heart. What! share even an hour of my life with that little doll? Never! The next question is, how to get rid of her. She advances smiling, with an air of repressed triumph, and behind her looms M. Kangourou, in his suit of gray tweed.
Let us seek among a less distinguished class of young persons, but without scars. And how about those on the other side of the screen, in those fine gold-embroidered dresses? For instance, the dancer with the spectre mask, Monsieur Kangourou? or again she who sings in so dulcet a strain and has such a charming nape to her neck?"
But as I have now become thoroughly Japanized, today they appear to me more diminutive, less outlandish, and in no way mysterious. I treat them rather as dancers that I have hired, and the idea that I ever had thought of marrying one of them now makes me shrug my shoulders as it formerly made M. Kangourou.
From time to time I express impatience, I ask this worthy creature, whom I am less and less able to consider in a serious light: "Come now, tell us frankly, Kangourou, are we any nearer coming to some arrangement? Is all this ever going to end?" "In a moment, Monsieur, in a moment;" and he resumes his air of political economist seriously debating social problems.
It is too great a condescension on your part. However, anything to oblige you." He guesses at the first words what I require from him. "Of course," he replies, "we shall see about it at once. In a week's time, as it happens, a family from Simonoseki, in which there are two charming daughters, will be here!" "What! in a week! You don't know me, Monsieur Kangourou!
Really, short of marrying a china ornament, I should find it difficult to choose better. At this moment enters M. Kangourou, clad in a suit of gray tweed, which might have come from La Belle Jardiniere or the Pont Neuf, with a pot-hat and white thread gloves. His countenance is at once foolish and cunning; he has hardly any nose or eyes. "You speak French, Monsieur Kangourou?"
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