"Say, I can't stay out of this!" cried the minister, and crooked his long legs into the angles of a katydid in his efforts to rise. Following the two others, he reached the tokonoma, planting himself, feet wide apart, exactly in front.
Such pictures, painted in sets of three and mounted in single, flexible panels of rich brocade, were designed for hanging in the broad tokonoma of noblemen's houses, or in the living-rooms of priests. This set was in monochrome, on paper which had been stained by time to the color of old ivory. The central painting represented a famous Chinese poet sitting in meditation upon a misty mountain-ledge. The lateral ones were landscapes, one of winter snow, the other, summer fulness. Each illustrated a well-known verse of the poet.
"So this is Japanese art,—the real thing,—is it?" asked Mr. Todd of Pierre. "You must excuse me, Prince," he went on to his host, "Pierre is always reading and talking about the beauty of it, but I'll be gosh—I'll be shot, I mean,—if I can tell what it is about. Over in my own country, now, I can distinguish a tree from a vase of Johnny-jump-ups, and a farmyard from a nood female; but with these pictures, somehow, the harder I look the more I seem to be standing on my head."
"Cy, I am ashamed of you! I love Japanese art, your Highness, and so does my daughter!" expostulated Mrs. Todd, from the floor. "It is so nice, and thin, and cool. I always recommend Japanese pictures to my friends for their summer cottages, and I am hanging our Legation with them now. Dear Mrs. Y., of Washington,—you know the name, of course,—has the most gorgeous screen of gold-leaf, painted in wildflowers. When she has a big reception she always puts it upside down behind her sofa, because it has more flowers at the bottom than at the top,—and nobody ever notices the difference."
The young Frenchman's cheek flushed. He leaned more closely to the paintings, partly to hide his expression. Gwendolen exchanged horrified glances with Dodge, then the sense of fun in both triumphed. Pierre spoke next in low tones, so that none but Haganè could hear him. "I am only a beginner,—a student. There has been little published in foreign languages about your wonderful art, and European collections are rare. Am I wrong in thinking these to be something unusual? The lines of the three flow together like music, yet each is a separate composition. We have nothing like it!"
"They are masterpieces by Kano Motonobu," said Haganè.
"Mon Dieu!" breathed Pierre, and seemed as if he would devour with new scrutiny the marvellous visions.
The host's eyes remained fastened upon his enthusiastic guest. He watched every flicker of intelligence, of changing expression. Suddenly the young man turned, met the look, and smiled. It was like sunlight on a meadow when Pierre smiled. "Your Highness," he murmured, "a touch of art should make the whole world kin! Is it not so? Teach me something more of this new mystery of beauty,—be my friend!"
Haganè lowered his lids quickly, but in the downward sweep he caught a glimpse of Yuki's eager, upturned face. She had forgotten herself and her immediate companions. Her spirit had crept over to the strangely mated two who stood before the pictures.
"Monsieur honors me by offering such a privilege," said Haganè, in an expressionless tone. He bowed slightly. Pierre drew back, feeling unaccountably rebuffed. Why had the great man said "Monsieur"? Before that, the plain term "Mister" had been employed. Vanity, never very far from the citadel of Pierre's being, posited an explanation. "He calls you by the French title," said Vanity, "because he realizes that no Occidental of another country than France could show such appreciation." Pierre recalled the awful remarks of Todd, the deeper idiocy of his complacent lady. "Yes, that is it," said Pierre to Vanity.