"Is that the very wonderful paper just signed, Lord?" she asked, putting up a hand.
Haganè glanced at the document, then bent to his wife the look she dreaded, yet longed for. Under it she stirred and quivered. "You are a white flower," said Haganè. "Do you really care to know?"
"I—I—wish not to be disrespectfully inquisitive," stammered Yuki, "only, if the importance is so great, is there not danger to your august person in bearing it about?"
Again Haganè smiled. His young wife hung her crimsoning face. He put out an arm and caught her to him. "Is that your fear—you thing of snow and plum-blossom? Ah, Yuki—Yuki—you are my wife. When this time of stress and peril is at an end, I shall try to teach you something of a brighter hue than duty."
Pierre, high on his knees among the yama-buki, saw and heard it all.
"If there be danger, you must not bear it! The risk is terrible. Think, Lord, how our country needs you!" Her apprehension lifted her a little from self-consciousness. Haganè's answer was calm, steady, with a thrill in it. "Then who is to bear it, small sweet wife, if I should put it down? But, no, there must be no thought of thee and me—not yet. I belong to the land. In all haste must I take the paper to our Imperial Lord. Every moment means a danger. Ring instantly for the carriage,—I must go!"
"The single horse coupé is now being repaired," said Yuki, in a troubled tone, "and, more unfortunate, one of the pair of carriage-horses is ill; but I can order your kuruma with two runners."
"Unfortunate," echoed Haganè, in a lower tone, "yet such small annoyances beset the way of all. Ring for my stoutest kuruma, Yuki, and have three runners. They will bear me as swiftly as any horse."
"Lord," faltered Yuki, not moving from him, "you assured me that after the meeting I should have speech with you. The matter is indeed of importance, perhaps of great danger."
"Well, I will listen, child, if you can be brief. But first touch the bell and give my order."