Part 9

“Masago cut it from a Chinese magazine you brought home last month,” said the wife, “and it was such a beautiful picture she has put it away among her treasures, have you not, Masago?”

The girl’s eyes were downcast, and she did not raise them. She knew by the silence in the room that her answer was awaited by the company, but she could not move her lips to speak. Then she heard Junzo answering quietly for her:—

“He is certainly the most admirable hero we have, and one that it honors our nation to idolize.”

His words were rewarded by a glance from the eyes she raised in timid gratitude. It was but for a moment; then her head was bent again.

For a week Junzo saw his fiancée daily. At the end of that time he accompanied her with her family a portion of the way to Kyoto, whither she went to attend school for a year. Junzo then proceeded alone to Tokyo, and on his journey back his musings of his future bride were as vague and unsatisfactory as when he had come.

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CHAPTER V

GOSSIP OF THE COURT

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CHAPTER V

GOSSIP OF THE COURT

IT was early afternoon. The ladies in the Komatzu palace were taking their noon-day siesta, and idly discussing the work of the artist, Kamura Junzo. Since he had become a favorite among them, many of the ladies wished that he could be retained in the palace a little longer.

As they sipped their amber tea indolently in one of the chambers of the palace, they gossiped with the freedom common to the women of the West rather than the East.

“Now,” said the little Countess Matsuka, handing her cup to a page, “if we were only so fortunate as to have two Imperial heroes instead of one!”

A languorous beauty, swinging lazily in a Dutch hammock, raised herself upon an elbow.

“But the heroes nowadays are all heimins” (commoners), she said with soft scorn.

“Oh, Duchess Aoi,” laughed a pretty young woman, who, more industrious, was working at an embroidery frame, “how can you say so? There are no heimins to-day.”

“Oh, true,” responded the other, crossly, “there is no caste to-day. The heimin has become the politician.”

“Yes,” said the pretty one at the frame, “and the politician rules and owns Nippon.”

The Duchess Aoi sat up aggressively.

“You appear to have the confidence of the diplomats, O Lady Fuji-no,” said she.

Fuji tossed her head in malicious silence.

“Noble ladies!” came the warning voice of the elderly mentor-chaperon. “It is too warm to engage the august voice in argument. Let us have music.”

The Duchess Aoi shrugged her shapely shoulders.

“The court geishas are busy in the male quarters,” she said, “and the foreign band has broken our ear-drums.”

One of the ladies laughed.

“Besides,” she added to Aoi’s speech, “we don’t want the foreign music in our private halls. It is enough for state occasions.”

“I enjoy it augustly well,” said a stiff little lady sitting uncomfortably in her Paris gown on an English chair, who bore the euphonious name of Yu-giri (Evening Mist). She was the only one of the company who wore European costume. The others were glad enough to revel in the comfortable enjoyment of the kimono.