And he touched her gently.
"But the gods may send it to me soon—the great crimson death."
"Then," answered the little girl, "I can die the great death, too, and still be with you—if you should wish!"
"What!" laughed Shijiro, anew, "little you—gentle Yoné—in the wild glory of the conflict, with a plunge into the fires of all the hells, in the madness of carnage, with a yell frozen on your lips? Shall little you experience that arch esctasy: your death-wound spurting your own warm blood into your own face? Then out, out, out into the eternal solitude and silence of souls awaiting other reincarnations? To that place called Meido? Ha ha, my fragile Yoné, the great red death—is not for you—not for perfumed little Yoné's. It is a man's death!"
At this she was reproved, but as he always reproved her, very gently. Yet it was wonderful that his gentleness held here. She understood well her presumption in wishing to die the great death of a man.
"Pardon, small lord," she said humbly. "I spoke when I had not counted three—instead of nine."
He laughed happily.
"Speak whatever comes to your lips. All is good, because it comes from them—which are all good. But when you speak of the things which are a man's, I look at your stature and—laugh! I tell you what is yours—little Yoné—and what is mine!"
She tried to forget that he was not much taller than she.
"No, forgive me; I must die only the small, white death of women and children. But, until it comes, I shall be here where you and I were happy together. And if you die, still caring for me, your spirit will come and touch me, as you said. That much I know. You have said it! But if you have forgotten, then there will be no touches; then I will still wait until I die. It will not be long."