Part 15

“Unfinished! Well, and did we not gaze upon the statue of his Imperial Highness while yet it was unfinished?”

The artist did not move from his position.

“Ah, it is the honorable whim of the artist, ladies,” said the little Countess Matsuka.

“Sir Artist, you are most cruel to the kind,” chided a roguish young lady, who leaned against the Duchess Aoi.

“Yes, indeed,” added another, “to permit a whim—an artist’s foolish whim—to prevent our enjoyment of her Highness’s picture.”

“Confess,” said Lady Fuji-no, who hitherto had remained quietly in the background, “that this is not the whim of an artist, but of—”

“The portrait is unfinished,” repeated the artist, raising his voice.

“Shaka! You have been most painstaking, Sir Artist. The statue of the Prince Komatzu was completed in just half the space of time.” It was the Duchess Aoi who spoke. To her the artist turned.

“Lady, bid me not again repeat, the portrait is unfinished,” he said with a low, graceful bow.

Lady Fuji burst into merry laughter.

“Artist,” she said, “the foreigners whom we emulate in some things declare that all women, royal or otherwise, have the prerogative to command, to insist.”

Junzo’s brows were slightly drawn together. He bowed without answering the smiling Fuji.

“And so,” she continued, taking a step nearer to him, “I am going to look upon the picture, since you will not heed command, and even though—”

Her hand was upon the silken covering, which she had partly lifted. Junzo’s hand fell upon hers like a vice. She did not, however, release the covering, but clutched at it beneath his fingers, her half-defiant, half-smiling eyes upon his face.

“Lady Fuji-no!” he cried, breathing heavily, “I must command—”

“Command!” she repeated haughtily; “and when, Sir Artist, did you acquire authority at court? By what right do you, a hired artist, dare to command a lady of the household of her Imperial Highness?”

She wrenched at the covering, and it began to slip from the top of the picture.

“In the name of Princess Sado-ko!” he cried.

The covering had slipped to the floor, and even the most impassive of the ladies had started back with little gasps of consternation. The canvas that faced them now was blank.

There was complete silence in the salon of the visiting artist. Then almost simultaneously all eyes were turned from that blank canvas to the face of the artist-man.

He stood there like one overtaken by a sudden tragedy. His face was white and drawn, his eyes, always large and dark, were widened now. His nostrils quivered, and his lips were dry. The very sight of his despair had a moving effect upon all, save the Lady Fuji-no, who began to laugh very softly. Thus she broke the silence. Her words were slow and cruel:—

“Of a truth, Sir Artist, the picture of her Imperial Highness is unfinished.”

He did not speak. The lady leaned toward him, thrusting her face within the range of his vision.

“Is this the honorable portrait of our Princess Sado-ko, which she will make as exchange gift to her affianced, Prince Komatzu?” she asked.

The artist turned his face painfully aside. Then the Duchess Aoi spoke:—

“Artist,” she said, “we most humble and insignificant ones copy the august fashions from her Highness. Pray you, paint my picture in just so fine a style.”

There were hysterical tears in the voice of the little Countess Matsuka. She sought in vain to divert her more heartless companions.

“I,” she said, “would desire to be painted in a most gorgeous foreign gown.”