"No chit-book or messenger came, your Excellency. It was brought in
person by Sir Onda Tetsujo."
"Ah! Does he wait?"
"No, your Excellency. He turned very quickly. There is no answer."
"Give it into the hands of Monsieur Le Beau and depart."
"Brought by Onda, in person. It will throw light," murmured Ronsard.
Pierre was fumbling and fidgeting at the top of the long, thin Japanese
envelope. In an excess of childish impatience he tore it with his teeth.
The cat lifted its head at the noise, but was pressed down instantly by
the firm hand of its master. It sneezed indignantly, and went to sleep.
Pierre, after two flashing readings, burst into a harsh laugh, threw the
missive toward Ronsard, and then hurrying to a window, leaned his
forehead to the cold glass.
The note was in English, written on very thin Japanese rice-paper, six
inches wide and perhaps a yard in length. A Japanese writing brush had
evidently been used, for in the slow, painful composition the writer had
lingered, sometimes for the following word or letter, and where the
brush rested a small round blot had spread. It was dated that morning.
It contained but one long sentence, built up of participial and relative
clauses, as in all Japanese construction.
"MR. PIERRE LE BEAU,--My daughter Onda Yuki-ko having last night
become by her own will no force the affianced [affianced held
three blots] wife of Prince Sanétomo Hagané Minister of War
Daimyo of Konda for great honor to her family and service to her
native land we respectfully desire you your honorable body from
our neighborhood remove entirely or trouble will become,