Hagané glanced at the document, then bent to his wife the look she dreaded, yet longed for. Under it she stirred and quivered. "You are a white flower," said Hagané. "Do you really care to know?" "I--I--wish not to be disrespectfully inquisitive," stammered Yuki, "only, if the importance is so great, is there not danger to your august person in bearing it about?" Again Hagané smiled. His young wife hung her crimsoning face. He put out an arm and caught her to him. "Is that your fear--you thing of snow and plum-blossom? Ah, Yuki--Yuki--you are my wife. When this time of stress and peril is at an end, I shall try to teach you something of a brighter hue than duty." Pierre, high on his knees among the yama-buki, saw and heard it all. "If there be danger, you must not bear it! The risk is terrible. Think, Lord, how our country needs you!" Her apprehension lifted her a little from self-consciousness. Hagané's answer was calm, steady, with a thrill in it. "Then who is to bear it, small sweet wife, if I should put it down? But, no, there must be no thought of thee and me--not yet. I belong to the land. In all haste must I take the paper to our Imperial Lord. Every moment means a danger. Ring instantly for the carriage,--I must go!" "The single horse coupé is now being repaired," said Yuki, in a troubled tone, "and, more unfortunate, one of the pair of carriage-horses is ill; but I can order your kuruma with two runners." "Unfortunate," echoed Hagané, in a lower tone, "yet such small annoyances beset the way of all. Ring for my stoutest kuruma, Yuki, and have three runners. They will bear me as swiftly as any horse." "Lord," faltered Yuki, not moving from him, "you assured me that after the meeting I should have speech with you. The matter is indeed of importance, perhaps of great danger." "Well, I will listen, child, if you can be brief. But first touch the bell and give my order." Yuki went across the room from him. He, frowning slightly at the delay, stood as he had been standing, his back squarely to the office-door, his left shoulder toward the opened French window. Yuki, not ten yards before him, had reached the wall where the electric button was set. She raised a slim hand to it, but before she could press it, a certain flicker as of an animated shadow moving in the room behind Hagané drew her curious and anxious glance. The outstretched arm fell, paralyzed. She attempted to speak, to cry aloud, but her throat had turned to cork. Pierre Le Beau was creeping into the room like a thief, a cat, skirting the wall in the direction of the office-door. He caught her frozen stare of terror, and made a defiant gesture, commanding silence.