eight o’clock
The weather was again calm and cloudless , the sky presenting a peculiar clarity , as if it had been swept by a cyclone , an exceeding transparency bringing out the minutest details in the distance till then unseen ; as if the terrible blast had blown away every vestige of the floating mists and left behind it nothing but void and boundless space . The coloring of woods and mountains stood out again in the resplendent verdancy of spring after the torrents of rain , like the wet colors of some freshly washed painting . The sampans and junks , which for the last three days had been lying under shelter , had now put out to sea , and the bay was covered with their white sails , which looked like a flight of enormous seabirds . At eight o'clock , at nightfall , our manoeuvres having ended , I embarked with Yves on board a sampan ; this time it is he who is carrying me off and taking me back to my home . On land , a delicious perfume of new-mown hay greets us , and the road across the mountains is bathed in glorious moonlight . We go straight up to Diou-djen-dji to join Chrysantheme ; I feel almost remorseful , although I hardly show it , for my neglect of her . Looking up , I recognize from afar my little house , perched on high .