Nagato started as if aroused from a dream; he had heard nothing, noticed nothing, absorbed as he was in the ecstatic contemplation of the goddess whom he adored.
"You want a story?" he asked, looking at the company as if he saw them for the first time.
He reflected for a few seconds.
"Very well; you shall have one," he said.
"There was once a tiny pond, born upon a day of storm and tempest. It was formed upon a mossy bed, and violets and pretty flowering-shrubs surrounded it and bent over it. The clouds, its kindred, had not yet quite dispersed, when the birds came, dipping the tips of their wings in its waters, and delighting it with their songs. It was happy, and rejoiced in life, finding it good. But soon the clouds vanished, and something marvellously dazzling appeared high overhead. The water sparkled; diamond-like ripples traversed its surface; it was changed to a magnificent casket of jewels. But the clouds came back, the vision disappeared. What sorrow then, and what regrets! The pond found no more pleasure in the songs of the birds; he despised the reflections cast upon his bosom by the flowers on his shores; everything looked dark and ugly to him. At last the sky cleared again, and this time for a long period. The bright wonder reappeared; the pond was again penetrated with warmth, splendor, and joy; but he felt that he was dying beneath those golden darts, which grew more and more fiery. Yet if a light branch threw its shadow over him, if a fine mist sprang up and served him as a shield, how he cursed them for delaying his delicious annihilation for one moment! The third day he had not one drop of water left: the pond had been swallowed by the sun."
This tale plunged the princesses in sweet reveries. The men declared that Nagato had invented a new form of story-telling, and that his improvisation ought to be put into poetry.
The Queen, who understood that the Prince spoke for her ear alone, almost involuntarily threw him a look full of melancholy pleasure.
The day neared its close. Two princesses now knelt before the Kisaki, to take her orders for the next day's diversions.
"To-morrow," said she, after a few moments' consideration, "we will have a rustic breakfast and a poetic contest in the western orchard."
The party soon broke up, and the embassy was conducted to the pavilions, embowered in shrubs and flowers, which had been assigned to it.