“Through you!” he cried. “The Princess Sado-ko sent word by you?”
“Just so,” she answered haughtily; “and so I trust you will guard your tongue in your words to one who is the august messenger of Princess Sado-ko.”
“Give me her letter then,” the artist said in a husky voice.
She laughed lightly.
“It is within my head, not hands, Sir Artist. The princess bade me state that she will condescend to grant your wish this evening. There will be a special ball within the palace, for his Majesty has sent his son, the young Crown Prince, but lately come of age, as guest to Nijo. The Princess Sado-ko bade me state you are invited.”
She paused, watching with narrowed eyes the paling face of Junzo.
“For my part,” she said, “I do not know the tenor of your letter, nor the request you dared to make of her Highness; but this I know, Sir Artist: to-night, if you accept this invitation, though you look at her with the keen eyes of love, you scarce will recognize your Princess Sado-ko.”
“She is so changed?”
“So changed? Well, no and yes. Changed not in looks, artist, for beauty such as hers fades only with old age, but changed in ways, in action, speech, in very thought. You sighed, Sir Artist.”
“You have keen ears,” he said bitterly.