“Do not drop the picture, if you please,” said Sado-ko, “but look at it again. Observe the knotted fashion of the obi, Natsu-no. Quite in the style of a geisha, is it not?—or rather the poor imitation of some simple maid who would copy the style from the pleasure women.”
The maid dropped the picture as though a thing unclean. At that motion the princess still smiled, but more inscrutably.
“Oh, noble princess, what evil one did dare to put your Highness’s face upon such a picture? It is a national disgrace.”
Reflectively Sado-ko looked at the picture.
“Perhaps it was the gods, O Natsu-no,” she said, as silently she put the picture in her sleeve.
She arose, regarding her maid’s emotion.
“Come,” she ordered, “undress me for the night, good maiden, for I am very tired, and to-morrow—to-morrow we must go upon a journey.”
“To Tokyo,” said Natsu, “with the noble Prince Komatzu’s suite, and oh, sweet mistress, life will have a happier aspect when we leave this melancholy place.”
Lifting her hands to her head, Sado-ko withdrew the long jewelled pins. Her hair fell in midnight glory to her knees.
Kneeling by her, the maid tied her hair back, a very old-fashioned mode which the ladies in her grandmother’s youth were fond of following when retiring, and to which the Princess Sado-ko had faithfully adhered.