Then to the servant:
“You may announce to his Majesty that it is I, the Prince of Echizen.”
As the servant disappeared behind the door, Mori, on whose brow a slight contraction had come, seizing Echizen roughly by the arm, forced him into the chamber beyond, the secret resort of the Emperor Kommei Tenno.
At the noise of their entrance the slight man who had been pacing up and down the chamber turned in nervous apprehension, his hand seeking uncertainly the naked dagger at his waist. The Prince Aidzu maintained the position assumed by him earlier in the interrupted interview. He was standing easily in an attitude of apparent assurance. An evil smile, meant for Echizen, played over his features as he regarded the future premier and his present rival, for the disconcerting smile of my Lord Aidzu was a trick usual with him whenever an enemy surprised him with his master. It was meant to convey to an intruder intimation of an understanding which might not have been reached prior to the interruption. Echizen met it with the greatest indifference.
For the first time in his short period of vigorous effort in behalf of his Mikado, Mori stood in the presence of the man who was the focus and culmination, the terminal point, of his most honored principle. He saw a slight form which could not be the bodily temple of the vitality of genius. It was that of a man scarcely beyond the thirties, yet there was no promise of the developing years. The features, however, were delicately modelled, the turn of the ankles and hands were exquisite. About the whole manifest personality of the man there was the subtle stamp of effeminacy. The hand, the intelligence within the eye—neither gave hint of action. The brain could not conceive, the hand could not execute.
“Poor lost, poor betrayed cause of Japan,” would have been the formulation of Mori’s conclusion as these details, tempered by reflection, came to him.
Then there passed through his mind from the little, hidden house of memory all those tales he had heard whispered in secret. The Shogun had bred the Emperor in indolence, in effeminate luxury, so that the war lord of the Mikado might overwhelm his master in the dwarfing shadow of real attainment. There was no hope in this man. Yet the principle was greater than the man, and it was a violation of the principle that had engulfed the man.
These thoughts passed rapidly through Mori’s mind as he prostrated himself before the Mikado.
“Oh, it is you, Echizen.” The voice, small, without interest, broke upon Mori. “Whom have you there with you?”
“Your highness,” answered Echizen, with every token of the deepest respect, “I beg to present to you Keiki, the Prince of Mori.”