“We were looking for the treasure of Yu N——”
“Treasure!” she interrupted indignantly, drawing away from him. “And I thought you different.” She drew farther away.
“I do not know why men care for nothing else,” she complained, half sorrowfully, half angrily. “From children to old age they think of nothing else. They go into war for it, and temples and jails and yamens; no mud can cover it, nor filth stick so closely but what they fondle it more than—than——”
The Breton reached out his hand toward her, but she drew back.
“You would rather——” Tears were creeping into her complaint.
“But, Your Excellency,” commented Tsang opportunely, “what can you do without money? Fate is the only thing on earth that cannot be marketed for it.”
She turned on him scornfully.
“Oyah! This whole Ming treasure cannot coax one lark to sing.”
“It could persuade kingdoms.”
“It cannot open a single night-closed lotus bud.”