Prince Hagané sat in the place of honor, his back to the tokonoma, where
new flowers bloomed and incense perfumed the space. His robes, of the
usual magnificent quality of silk, had to-night a deep bronze color. The
candles, placed one on each side of him, threw down a yellow light,
which took the wrinkles from his scarred face and some of the sadness
from his mouth. To Tetsujo's feasting eyes he appeared as a god; not the
meek, forgiving Buddha whom women and children adore, but some splendid
old war-god of Shinto tradition, young with the immortality of youth,
yet old as the world in wisdom.
The outer shoji stood well apart, letting in the chill, wet sweetness of
the night. The storm had now quite died away. The air of the room was so
still that the candle-flames stood like balanced flakes of topaz, and
the white smoke of the burning incense hung like a silver cord from the
gloom above.
The moment that Yuki entered, Hagané, with his trained vision, saw that
some great spiritual change had taken place. The look of miserable
defiance he feared was not there. Iriya had waited for her. The two
women advanced to the great visitor, and bowed before him three times,
then went back modestly to the far end of the room. Suzumé brought fresh
tea, and two new balls of charcoal for the hibachi. As the servant left,
Iriya asked of her husband, "Shall I also withdraw?"
"It is according to our lord's will," answered Tetsujo, his eyes turning
to the prince.
"What would you prefer, Yuki-ko?" Hagané's voice was kind.
"I should prefer my mother to remain," answered Yuki, without
hesitation.
"Madame Onda, I beg you to honor us with your presence," said Hagané,
with a slight bow.
Onda Tetsujo frowned. If his loyal nature allowed him to make one
criticism of his daimyo, it was of a certain lax, foreign politeness
toward women. The fault seemed to increase with years. Whether Prince
Hagané suspected this disapprobation or not, on this occasion at least
he made no attempt to modify it.
"I have come in person, little Yuki-ko, to hear your thought. No, do not
speak yet!" he interpolated, with a slight lifting of the right hand.
"Wait until I give you questions to answer! At the beginning there must
be quiet discussion between us four, with no haste or opposition on the
part of--any." He looked, with these last words, directly at his old
retainer.
"My Lord, my Lord!" fumed Tetsujo, "shall I be able to contain myself
while you condescend to bandy words with a mere girl?"
"If I command it, I think you will contain yourself," said the prince,
easily. Tetsujo rocked on the matting, gripped his arms tightly, and was
silent.
"The gods seem to have decreed no happiness for me in marriage," said
Hagané, impersonally, to all. "Perhaps they have only new mockery in
store, if now, in my old age, I dare take to myself this fair flower.
Yet am I tempted; by the good for her, as it seems to me; by my
friendship for you, Onda Tetsujo; and by the need for an official
mistress of my house. I can give her unusual opportunity to serve
Nippon, as in my letter I wrote."
Iriya, in her corner, put her face to the floor. "My Lord, even that you
have thought it, makes richer the traditions of our house--through ten
succeeding generations."
"I would not have the child consent because of family honors, my good
dame," said Hagané, a little sadly.
"Shall I speak now, Lord?" asked Yuki, in her sweet, steady voice.
Tetsujo ground his teeth, but managed to keep silent.
"Would you speak of the young Frenchman, whose mother is a Russian?"