She dropped her sleeve and gazed at me wide-eyed, in instant forgetfulness of self. “Pardon the rudeness!” she exclaimed. “The august lord should not humble himself by kneeling to a girl!”
“Azai, forgive me for the great rudeness, but in my country men love and honor pure maidens as they love and honor their mothers, and it is the custom to speak of that love even before marriage. Little Princess, I have been told that your august father and the Prince of Owari arranged for you to wed my friend Yoritomo Sama. But my friend has vowed to become a monk at Zozoji, and he has told me that my soul shone in your eyes. Azai, I love you with a love higher and deeper than any man of Nippon bears towards his wife and mother!”
She knelt and bowed low to me. “My lord,” she whispered, “it is unbelievable that so great a love could be given a mere girl!”
“Your soul is in my eyes, Azai! Say that you love me!”
“My lord, I should rejoice to be accepted as the humblest serving-maid in all your yashikis!”
“You love me!” I cried, and drawing her up by one of her tiny plump hands, I bent close. “In my land, august lady, it is required to seal the confession of love in this manner.”
At the touch of my lips to her rosebud mouth she drew back with a startled sob. But I resisted her gentle efforts to withdraw her hand.
“Do you not trust me, Azai?” I asked, bending to watch her downcast face in the dim light.
“Shame has overcome me!” she sobbed. “Nowhere is it written that man and woman should hold one another’s hands or touch lips together.”
“If that is hateful to the Princess—”