When her hand touched that of the Prince he felt cold as ice. Involuntarily his own palm enclosed hers warmly. He did not let it go, but drawing her closer to him, unmindful of the assembled company, he tried to fathom the tragedy that seemed to lurk behind her impenetrable eyes. But, her head drooping above their hands, he beheld only the sheen of her glossy hair. Then she passed from his side to her uncle and her father.
Almost mechanically, his eyes never once relaxing their gaze from the face of his bride, the Prince went through the ceremony. After the service he tried to break the uncomfortable restraint. He proposed the health of the two noble though previously misguided families, whose union had now been so happily consummated. But his own cup was the only one held high. Gradually his hand fell from its elevation. He set the untasted sake down among the marriage-cups and sprang to his feet.
“Let us diffuse some merriment among us,” he cried, “for the sake of the gods and for our future peace and happiness. Such undue solemnity bodes ill for our honorable future.”
The samurai Shimadzu stepped forward, facing him fairly.
“My lord and prince,” he said, “I have this moment given the signal for a courier to hasten immediately to Choshui to acquaint my bitterest enemy with the tidings of the marriage of his heir to my insignificant daughter.”
The Prince smiled, despite his uneasiness.
“Surely, my lord,” he said, “you make a goodly new and honorable custom. What! an announcement, perchance an invitation for one’s enemy! That is well, for we have overturned all false maxims relating to vengeance against an enemy. We have buried our wrongs in a union of love, and embrace our enemies as friends.”
“With august humility,” said the samurai, coldly, “I would suggest that your highness’s assurance of our embrace is premature.”
“Premature! What, and this my marriage day!”
“Your marriage day may be a source of woe to your proud house.”