He was interrupted by the screaming of Masago. She rushed toward Komatzu, crying out:—
“You, you, you—He has sent you for me—oh-h—”
She swayed and fell even as she spoke.
Without a word of explanation the Prince Komatzu himself stooped to the floor. Lifting in his arms the senseless form of the maid Masago, he bore it to the royal norimon without the house.
After that those within the house heard the sounds of departure. Then silence in the night. Kwacho returned from the veranda.
“They have gone in the direction of the palace Aoyama—some demented princess, doubtless.” He turned to Junzo, “I trust you will pardon the interruption of your visit in my house.”
The artist returned his host’s bow mechanically, then looked with some stealthiness toward his fiancée. When he found her eyes fixed upon his face imploringly, he could not look at her.
“The night grows late,” he said heavily; “permit me to say good night.”
He bowed deeply to all, departing without another word to Sado-ko. She moved toward the doors. Turning in the path, he saw her standing there.
That night, when husband and wife lay side by side upon their mattresses, Kwacho, moving restlessly, said:—