With these words the old man went away. His advice aroused Tokkei from despair. At once he seated himself before the picture, and called it by the name of a girl—(what name the Japanese narrator has forgotten to tell us)—over and over again, very tenderly. That day it made no answer, nor the next day, nor the next. But Tokkei did not lose faith or patience; and after many days it suddenly one evening answered to its name,—
"Hai!" (Yes.)
Then quickly, quickly, some of the wine from a hundred different wine-shops was poured out, and reverentially presented in a little cup. And the girl stepped from the screen, and walked upon the matting of the room, and knelt to take the cup from Tokkei's hand,—asking, with a delicious smile:—
"How could you love me so much?"
Says the Japanese narrator: "She was much more beautiful than the picture,—beautiful to the tips of her finger-nails,—beautiful also in heart and temper,—lovelier than anybody else in the world." What answer Tokkei made to her question is not recorded: it will have to be imagined.
"But will you not soon get tired of me?" she asked.
"Never while I live!" he protested.
"And after—?" she persisted;—for the Japanese bride is not satisfied with love for one life-time only.
"Let us pledge ourselves to each other," he entreated, "for the time of seven existences."
"If you are ever unkind to me," she said, "I will go back to the screen."