one o’clock in the morning before
The orchestra grinds , wails , quivers ; then suddenly bursts out into funereal shrieks , like a concert of owls ; the hag is now eating , and her wolfish shadow is eating also , greedily moving its jaws and nibbling at another shadow easy to recognize -- the arm of a little child . We now go on to see the great salamander of Japan , an animal rare in this country , and quite unknown elsewhere , a great , cold mass , sluggish and benumbed , looking like some antediluvian experiment , forgotten in the inner seas of this archipelago . Next comes the trained elephant , the terror of our mousmes , the equilibrists , the menagerie . It is one o'clock in the morning before we are back at Diou-djen-dji . We first get Yves to bed in the little paper room he has already once occupied . Then we go to bed ourselves , after the inevitable preparations , the smoking of the little pipe , and the tap ! tap !