“The woman became a nuisance at the tavern. The people there were not Kirishitans (Christians), and were moreover in ignorance of the woman’s speech. They could only comprehend that she wished to be taken to some one of her own people—so, madame, you—”
“I, being of her people,” said Aoi, with simple dignity, “she was brought to me. That was right. I thank my neighbors for their kindness. I am honored, indeed, with such a guest. She is welcome.”
The doctor moved towards the door.
“And the child? It is well, and will not accompany the mother on her last journey. What will become of it?”
Aoi did not reply.
“If it is desired by you, Madame Aoi,” said the doctor, endeavoring to be kind, “I will immediately despatch word to the city to send notification to the nearest open port. There, surely, must be some consul, or representative of the woman’s country. To them the child should go.”
Aoi spoke swiftly.
“The poor one’s people were unkind to her and cruel. How can we tell but that they might also abuse the child?”
“That is the affair of the child, Madame Aoi. Pray accept my counsel. Send the child—”
Interrupted by the sudden entrance of little Komazawa, he did not finish. The boy had evidently heard all, through the thin partition doors, against which he had leaned, listening intently. He thrust himself now before the doctor, with eyes purpled by excitement. His tense little body quivered.