"Well," Pierre hurried on, "let us get back to business. To-night, you say? I agree, but where?" "Should the noble count permit such base use of it, the most suitable spot would be your Legation," said Hagané. Pierre gave a hiss. His head was on fire again. He must hurry and have things settled before the full conflagration came. "More melodrama! I feel the sincerity of your suggestion. Shall I summon the noble count to be asked?" "Certainly. I shall await him here. Kindly hasten, as the day already wanes." Pierre fell back a little, half in derision, half in apprehensive credulity, like a harlequin in two shades. "You really mean it! Well, I shall go. I will get him if he is to be brought. He must come,--I shall be in need of him. It is all a dream, a fever dream. Will you give parole to stay here till I come back,--you and Yuki?" His bright eyes shot suspiciously from one to the other. There was still so much he did not understand. Hagané sighed. He assumed the expression of one who has had an insect light upon him and whose dignity forbids him to brush it off. "Answer the Frenchman, Yuki-ko." "We will remain, Monsieur Le Beau," said Yuki. Left alone, the husband and wife instinctively drew nearer. After gazing for a long moment Hagané suddenly put out his hands. Yuki thrust hers within them and lifted wide eyes. Her face had a look of blurred moonlight. Out of the mystic whiteness her eyes gleamed like deep spiritual wells, where hopes and possibilities, already death-shadowed, drifted in a spectral sheen. Hagané tightened his clasp, and at the same instant let his own soul come full into his face. Yuki shivered. Her lips parted. Virtue flowed in upon her from his touch. She thought, as in a vision, of the Kioto statue worn smooth by the touch of dying men. What ghostly comfort that image could have held was but a feeble emanation beside the blinding power of this living god. "All things are not yet clear to me," said the man. "Something is hidden, and you jealously conceal the hiding-place. Yet you sheltered that spy. You prevented me from following. Speak your whole heart, Yuki." "If I have a secret, Lord, it is one which aids to purify and consecrate my sacrifice. I long for that sweet hour, Lord. My parched spirit strains toward it." Hagané's lips twitched once. "Yuki, as to the ear of your ancestral gods, tell me, should this paper be regained by means less terrible,--are you worthy to be my wife?" Thinking of her weakness, her great and not ignoble efforts doomed always, it would seem, to failure, and with the knowledge of this man's greatness full upon her, Yuki answered simply, "No." Her very innocence betrayed her and sealed the doom of death. Hagané had a man's thoughts. Pierre's boast--the disordered rooms of the tea-house--the broken hairpin--lashed him with a fiery hail. He groaned and dropped his face.