And quitted the room.
The Emperor, who had been peeping unobserved into it, after he had finished his toilet, laughed heartily to himself at the scene.
Tô-no-Chiûjiô was somehow informed of Genji's fun with this lady, and became anxious to discover how far he meant to carry on the joke. He therefore sought her acquaintance. Genji knew nothing of this. It happened on a cool summer evening that Genji was sauntering round the Ummeiden in the palace yard. He heard the sound of a biwa (mandolin) proceeding from a veranda. It was played by this lady. She performed well upon it, for she was often accustomed to play it before the Emperor along with male musicians. It sounded very charming. She was also singing to it the "Melon grower."
"Ah!" thought Genji, "the singing woman in Gakshoo, whom the poet spoke of, may have been like this one," and he stood still and listened. Slowly he approached near the veranda, humming slowly, as he went, "Adzmaya," which she soon noticed, and took up the song, "Do open and come in! but
I do not believe you're in the rain,
Nor that you really wish to come in."
Genji at once responded,
"Whose love you may be I know not,
But I'll not stand outside your cot,"
and was going away, when he suddenly thought, "This is too abrupt!" and coming back, he entered the apartment.
How great was the joy of Tô-no-Chiûjiô, who had followed Genji unperceived by him, when he saw this. He contrived a plan to frighten him, so he reconnoitred in order to find some favorable opportunity.
The evening breeze blew chill, and Genji it appears was becoming very indifferent. Choosing this moment Tô-no-Chiûjiô slyly stepped forth to the spot where Genji was resting.