“Perhaps,” she said, “your sighs will be much louder, artist, after you have seen her Highness. You will note the folly of illusions. You will not trace the change in Sado-ko to yourself, but to a master hand more royal.”
“Lady, your words are veiled. I do not understand them.”
“You will to-night. Had I more pity in my nature than the gods have given me, I could almost counsel just now: Stay in that dull world to which you rightfully belong and trust not all the words of Sado-ko. Nay, do not scowl. Your ancestors, I learn, were samurai. To-day you are a citizen—an artist-man. I am a lady of the court, cynical and little apt to trust my kind. Yet, artist, I think you will recall the words of Fuji when you are able to see with your own eyes the actions of her Highness with her new lover, the noble Prince Komatzu.”
He spoke with sneering, cutting scorn:—
“Lady, your ambition ever trips before you. It is said you would gladly bring about the marriage of some noble persons for your own small ends. That union, I doubt not, will soon be consummated.” He paled perceptibly even while he spoke the words, but continued with defiant bravery: “Yet do not waste your efforts in defaming to a poor artist one he trusts completely.”
She brought her beaded slipper sharply down upon the floor.
“You speak the truth, Sir Artist. I would encompass such a union, and the gods favor my ambition. The Princess Sado-ko is kind to her affianced lord.”
“They are not publicly betrothed,” he said gloomily.
“Not yet, but the very coming of the Crown Prince indicates that the time is near. I will confess another weakness, artist. I do dislike your presence, and I fear it. If eyes and even ears are not deceived, the Princess Sado-ko loves her cousin Prince Komatzu.”
He made a gesture of denial, but she continued steadily:—