Her voice dragged slowly over the word as she spoke in answer.
“Masago,” she repeated; and then again, “Masago. Do you like the sound of the name, cousin?”
“It has a fair but common sound. The ‘morning glory’ is esteemed. It is, in truth, a pretty name.”
“But not so sweet as—Sado-ko. Pray you, say so, cousin.”
“Why, no; not so sweet, so rare, so royal. Who but a princess might carry such a name as that? Does not the ‘ko’ mean ‘royal’ and ‘Sado,’ sweetest name for maiden, ‘chastity’?”
Her restless hands unclasped. She raised a trembling face.
“Komatzu, I would exchange that royal name for the simple one—Masago.”
“A simple, happy maid, Komatzu. She is the daughter of a late countryman of Echizen, and now a famous merchant of Tokyo.”
“Yamada Kwacho. Ah, I see you start, Komatzu. You, too, it seems, have heard the story?”
“And I. But not until he came to Komatzu.”
“He?—this artist-fellow told you of your father?”
“No. His coming simply widened the lips of the ever open mouths of my sweet maids of honor. By a female chance of listening, a weakness common to our race and sex, Komatzu, I heard the tale retold.”
“Cousin, I apologize for the vile gossip with which my palace seems infected.”
“Oh, spare your august tongue, Komatzu. ’Twas my own maids who spoke.”
“And this Masago? I do not altogether understand. She is a daughter of Yamada Kwacho?”
The subtle meaning of her words was not lost upon the prince. He frowned.
“What relation does this Masago bear to this artist-man?” he asked.
Sado-ko looked up at him in the now fading moonlight, but did not answer. The expression of her face was strange. She turned suddenly, and moved with slow and almost dreamy step toward her rooms, Komatzu following at her side, awaiting her reply.
Sado-ko paused on the steps, and then she answered in the faintest voice:—
In the opening of the shoji she paused a space, looking up at the sky.
“The moon is gone,” she said. Her cousin did not know whether to him she breathed farewell, or to the moon, for she said:—
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“O noble princess,” stammered Natsu-no, “I would that you could weep with me.”