Little Chrysanthème is always arrayed in dark colors, a sign here of
aristocratic distinction. While her friends Oyouki-San, Madame Touki
and others delight in loud-striped stuffs, and stick gorgeous
ornaments in their chignons, she always wears navy-blue or neutral
gray, fastened round her waist with great black sashes brocaded in
tender shades, and puts nothing in her hair but amber-colored
tortoise-shell pins. If she were of noble descent she would wear
embroidered on her dress in the middle of the back a little white
circle looking like a postmark with some design in the center of
it--the leaf of a tree generally; and this would be her coat of arms.
There is really nothing wanting but this little heraldic blazon on the
back to give her the appearance of a lady of the highest position.
In Japan the smart dresses of bright colors shaded in clouds,
embroidered with monsters of gold or silver, are reserved by the great
ladies for home use on state occasions; or else they are used on the
stage for the dancers and the courtesans.
Like all Japanese women, Chrysanthème carries a quantity of things in
her long sleeves, in which pockets are cunningly hidden. There she
keeps letters, various notes written on delicate sheets of rice-paper,
prayer amulets drawn up by the bonzes; and above all a number of
squares of a silky paper which she puts to the most unexpected
uses,--to dry a tea-cup, to hold the damp stalk of a flower, or to
blow her quaint little nose, when the necessity presents itself. After
the operation she at once crumples up the piece of paper, rolls it
into a ball, and throws it out of the window with disgust.
The very smartest people in Japan blow their noses in this manner.