“Plainly what he says,” returned Jiro; “if any one speaks ill of the cause I am to silence and confound him.”
Toro smiled with superiority.
“You!” he whispered; “it is for me.”
With a passionate movement of negation, Jiro thrust the epistle into his bosom.
“Do nothing,” urged Toro; “if you disturb this gathering you are as good as dead. For a samurai it would be a pleasing feat.” Toro swelled in appreciation. “But for you—” He broke off. “Mori would not have asked it if he had known—”
“Silence!” whispered Jiro. “Listen.”
Several of the Dutchman’s translations had been lost by Toro and Jiro, but the interpreter was now speaking again for the American.
“I desire to know,” he said, “before I deliver my letters, with whom I am treating—with what Emperor—with which of the two?”
The Japanese were astounded.
“You are dealing with the Emperor of Japan,” they responded.