"You will get ready to go to Peking to be a handmaid to our mighty king." With wild cries Tuen knelt before the Viceroy, the tears streaming down her face. "Oh do not send me away," she pleaded. "I will be so good—I will work for you as a slave all my life—only let me stay here."
The Viceroy arched his brows.
"What a fuss to make about nothing!" he commented. "You ought to be proud to be sent. I fear after all you are more foolish than other women."
But Tuen did not care how silly he thought her, if she could only beg him out of this awful plan. Just when she was so happy must it all come to an end? Was she again to be sent forth, alone and friendless, among strangers? Oh, it was too horrible! And it seemed so useless! She was satisfied, why not let her stay where she was? Some of this she managed to tell the Viceroy between her sobs, but he listened impatiently.
"There is no cause for such sorrow, I tell you," he repeated. "Great is the Emperor, and his riches like the ever-flowing waters. There is no end to them. His palace, I have heard, is of gold and gems; there is nothing like it in all the world."
But this picture brought no consolation to Tuen. She only moaned and cried and begged to stay where she was.
"Is it that you are angry with me?" she asked. "Do I no longer please you, that you want to get rid of me?"
"No, Tuen," he answered, "it is only that I do not know what else to send my Emperor, and I dare not risk his displeasure. But neither will he thank me to send him an unwilling girl, so dry your eyes."
"Then it would be a great favor to you if I went and looked happy?" she inquired in a curiously strained voice.
"So I have told you," he said wearily, for he detested scenes most cordially, and was anxious to bring this one to a close.