"He will come back to you," said Tika, giving up all hope of turning the thoughts of her mistress from her persistent grief; "when you are his wife he will love you again, you are so beautiful."
"He never loved me, and I don't want him to love me," said Fatkoura; "for I hate him."
Tika sighed.
"I have but one pleasure, and that is to know that he suffers; that she too—she who crushes me by her power and her matchless beauty—is devoured by sorrow. They love, and they may not confess it. I am one obstacle the more between them. The Mikado might have died; then she could have married him."
"A Kisaki! marry a prince!" exclaimed Tika.
"You forget," said Fatkoura, "that Nagato's ancestor was next in rank to the Mikado. Iwakura's crest still proclaims the fact, for it consists of two Chinese characters, meaning: 'The highest rank.' In the days when I loved the Prince of Nagato, the Son of the Gods himself could not have driven him from my heart."
"You love him more than ever," murmured Tika.
Sometimes Fatkoura was moved with pity for her own fate. She recalled the time when the delight of being loved filled her soul; and she wept bitterly. But tears failed to comfort her.
"I am a fool!" she said; "I long to weep upon his shoulder; I fain would pour out my anguish to his cold and cruel heart!"
Then her anger grew strong within her once more.