Her voice was so sad and so full of entreaty that the men were moved.
"What ails her?" said one. "She is pale as the snow; she might die, as she says."
"And if she has something to tell!"
"Let us take her to the Prince of Nagato; he can decide whether it's worth hearing."
"Well, come in!" said one of the soldiers; "we pity you."
Omiti took a few tottering steps; but her strength deserted her. She hurriedly snatched from her bosom a withered flower and held it to the soldiers; then, with a stifled cry, she fell backwards.
The embarrassed and uneasy soldiers looked at each other, consulting one another with a glance.
"If she is dead," said one, "we shall be accused of killing her."
"We'd better throw her into the river."
"Yes; but how are we to touch a corpse without making ourselves impure!"