"But what ails your arm?" suddenly cried the other, noticing a thin white bandage wound about Iwakura's sleeve.
The latter hid his arm behind him, and held out the other hand.
"Nothing," he said.
But his companion grasped the arm which he concealed. The Prince of Nagato uttered an exclamation of pain.
"You are wounded, eh? One of these days I shall hear that Nagato has been killed in some foolish brawl. What have you been doing now, incorrigible and imprudent fellow?"
"When Hieyas, the regent, comes before you, you will know only too much about it," said the Prince; "you will hear fine things, O illustrious friend, in regard to your unworthy favorite. Methinks I already hear the sound of the terrible voice of the man from whom nothing is hid: 'Fide-Yori, ruler of Japan, son of the great Taiko-Sama, whose memory I revere! grave disorders have this night troubled Osaka.'"
The Prince of Nagato mimicked the voice of Hieyas so well that the young Shogun could not repress a smile.
'And what are these disorders?' you will say. 'Doors broken open, blows, tumults, scandals.' 'Are the authors of these misdeeds known?' 'The leader of the riot is the true criminal, and I know him well.' 'Who is he?' 'Who should it be but the man who takes a share in every adventure, every nocturnal brawl; who, but the Prince of Nagato, the terror of honest families, the dread of peaceful men?' And then you will pardon me, O too merciful man! Hieyas will reproach you with your weakness, dwelling upon it, that this weakness may redound to the injury of the Shogun and the profit of the Regent."
"What if I lose patience at last, Nagato," said the Shogun; "what if I exile you to your own province for a year?"
"I should go, master, without a murmur."