DRAGON-FLY ISLAND.
The beautiful Yodogimi wept. She stood leaning against a black lacquer panel, one arm raised with a gesture of grief, her fingers pressed lightly against the smooth, shining wall, her head thrown back, and somewhat inclined towards her shoulder. She wept, without forgetting to be beautiful.
Yodogimi was nearly forty years old. Who would have thought it from her charming face and form? Her large eyes were still brilliant, her lips fresh, her complexion clear; and the single rope-like twist of her hair, when released from its pins, rolled to the floor like a dark serpent. The Princess, as was her habit, was magnificently arrayed; a costly girdle clasped her slender waist, and the embroideries of her robe were of marvellous workmanship. A few steps away from her stood General Harounaga, her lover, in full armor, his gold-thonged whip in his hand. He stared at the floor and struggled to force a tear, but could not. From time to time he heaved a deep sigh.
"Alas, alas!" exclaimed Yodogimi, "you will go, you will forget me; perhaps die!"
"I may die," said the General, "but I can never forget you."
"Die! Have you no heart, that you can talk to me of death I Men are cruel; they swear devotion, and then, for a mere nothing, they forsake us."
"It is not my fault. War has broken out; I must start for Yamashiro with my men."
"And if I command you to stay?"
"I must disobey, Princess."