Our dwelling is open all the night through, and the lamps burning before
the gilded Buddha bring us the company of the insect inhabitants of every
garden in the neighborhood. Moths, mosquitoes, cicalas, and other
extraordinary insects of which I don't even know the names--all this
company assembles around us.
It is extremely funny, when some unexpected grasshopper, some free-and-
easy beetle presents itself without invitation or excuse, scampering over
our white mats, to see the manner in which Chrysantheme indicates it to
my righteous vengeance--merely pointing her finger at it, without another
word than "Hou!" said with bent head, a particular pout, and a
scandalised air.
There is a fan kept expressly for the purpose of blowing them out of
doors again.