"Mother of Christ! What will you have me think? What is to be her fate? Some foul black thought still bubbles behind those reptile eyes of yours! Out with it! Is she to be cast forth helpless, friendless, at the mercy of the first charitable stranger—"
Haganè lifted a hand. "Now we approach reason though by a somewhat frenzied path. You are the succoring knight. Merely return to me, with unbroken seal, the document I saw you take, and for reward I ask you to receive free, and untrammelled, the person of the present Princess Haganè."
Suspicion drove back into shadow a host of eager thoughts. After one incredulous look Pierre burst into a clamor of mirthless laughter. "So it is a bribe! What fools you must truly think all foreigners. Give the princess to me bodily? This is melodrama. Even had I the paper and should return it—I still deny, damn you!—you would take powerful precaution that she did not come."
"Do you so greatly distrust your powers of attraction?"
"No, nor her love, God bless her! But I distrust you and your Oriental subtleties. She would come—she loves me—but you would not let her. What guarantee can you offer?"
Haganè looked pained. "No one has ever doubted my word. But if you need it, take Japan's most sacred oath—by the life of our Emperor! Prevent her? Oh, no. I shall urge—compel."
Pierre struggled to preserve his balance. "Even in this barbaric country—have even—you—such power? Can you not be called to some account?"
"I regret the necessity of being vulgar," said Haganè, in a composed voice, "but I see I must explain. It is my—what you call position—my—er—rank. It might not be possible to every Japanese, Monsieur. But as things are, the woman is as much mine as a French spaniel would be yours. Again I assure you, by the life of my Emperor, she will come. Again I ask, Do you accept my bargain?"
Pierre whispered to himself Count Ronsard's words, "Remember France!" He tried to keep his reason, but the wave of hope had surged high. He saw as in a vision Yuki, disgraced, rejected, wandering alone through the wind-swept streets. He saw her face sheltered upon his arm,—that little face so pure, so delicate, so well-beloved. Her desolation touched him for a moment with an unselfish grief. "She is proud—she is brave!" he cried aloud. "Even at your orders will she come?"
"I think so, Monsieur. She might possibly consider it a last chance to serve the country she has wronged."