But while all was gay and brilliant in the new ball-room of the palace Komatzu, that wing of the palace reserved for the Princess Sado-ko was in blackness.
Sado-ko stood alone in her darkened chamber. She had dismissed her personal attendant, Natsu-no, though the latter crouched by the inner shoji, her eye peering into the adjoining room, watching and guarding her mistress.
It had not been difficult for Sado-ko to retire from the ball, when the dancing had begun, for her aversion to all such modern pastimes was well known. She alone of all that company had appeared in the simple though exquisite garb of her country. In a robe of ancient style, soft flowing, Sado-ko had never appeared to better advantage among the ladies of the court, all of whom affected the European style of gown, which ill became them.
Now in her chamber alone, Sado-ko watched by her shoji. When first she took her stand, all was black without. No moon had yet arisen to silver her own gardens and tell her that it was time. It was a long interval while she stood there, a statue of patience.
Gradually the darkness without became mellowed, and slowly and softly the tall bamboos and pines became silhouetted against the sky. One small hand hidden in the folds of her kimono was lifted. She pushed the shoji a small way apart,—only enough room for her straining eyes to see clearer without.
It was a white and wistful face she turned appealingly to the skies. Then that first soft light reflected in her eyes, and sighing with relief that her waiting now was over, she pushed the sliding doors still farther apart and then stepped outside. She paused upon her balcony, to look about her with some fear. There was no sound or stir. Very distant and far away sounded the music of the palace Komatzu.
With another glance of assurance at the moon floating up from the hills and trees, she lifted her gown. Down into the garden the princess stepped.
Almost at the same instant the maiden Natsu-no cautiously pushed back the shoji the princess had forgotten to close, and keeping some distance behind, followed her mistress with stealing step.
Meanwhile the Lady Fuji-no had slipped breathlessly from the arms of her partner, and condemning the atmosphere of the room had sought the wide verandas. Save for the silent and melancholy figure of the artist the verandas were deserted. He stood by the steps leading to the gardens, his arms folded across his breast, his head partly upraised as though he watched the skies. At the light touch of the Lady Fuji’s hand he started violently, forgetting his manners in so far as to draw his sleeve quickly away from her clasp. Her face was in shadow, for it was dark about them. Only the first glimmer of the moon had yet appeared. Junzo knew that she was smiling mockingly.
“You watch the stars, Sir Artist?” she asked sweetly.