The repentant Tika knelt in the centre of the room, hid her face behind her flowing sleeves, and her tears fell fast. "You will never mention the Prince of Tosa to me again," said Fatkoura. "Never, mistress," sobbed Tika; "except to curse him." "Well, I forgive you. Talk to me of my beloved as you used to do." "Alack! he is dead," said Tika; "I can only mourn with you." "Don't you think I was speedily consoled?" Tika, in surprise, looked up at her mistress, who smiled. "Why, I thought--" she stammered, "I thought he was wrong to submit to defeat in your presence." "What if I were to tell you that he was never defeated, that he is alive--." "He triumphs over your heart; he lives in your imagination: that is what you mean." "No; he still breathes the breath of life." "Alas, that is impossible! Before our eyes--I shudder to think of it still--his ghastly head fell to the ground." "That man, whose death we witnessed, was not Iwakura." "Has grief affected her reason?" thought Tika, scrutinizing her mistress in some alarm. "You think me mad?" said Fatkoura, "You shall see, when he comes to open the doors of our prison, whether I speak the truth.". Tika dared not contradict her mistress; she pretended to believe that Nagato lived. "Better this strange hallucination than her former blank despair!" she thought. They then began to talk of the absent one as had been their wont in the Dairi. They recalled the words that he had spoken, the anecdotes he had told. They tried to imitate the tones of his voice. They reconstructed his every dress, rehearsed, his features, his smile, his attitude. Often they would hold a long discussion over some detail or date, or a simple phrase which he had uttered. In this fashion the hours glided rapidly by. Every day the Prince of Tosa sent presents to Fatkoura,--flowers, rare birds, marvellous fabrics. Every day Fatkoura let the birds fly, threw the silks and flowers from the window. The Prince never wearied. At noon he would pay a visit to the prisoner, and discourse of his love. One day, however, he entered Fatkoura's room with a strange expression on his face. He dismissed Tika with a gesture that suffered no reply; then he stepped towards Fatkoura, and gazed at her fixedly. "You are firmly resolved to resist me still?" said he, after a pause. "Now and always; and to hate as much as I despise you." "That is your final answer? Think again." "I do not need to think. I hated you from the first moment I saw you; I shall hate you to my death." "Very well!" cried the Prince, in a terrible voice; "I can force you to become my wife." "I defy you to do so," said Fatkoura, who never quailed before the Prince's gaze. "I will conquer you, I swear, as I conquered your lover." Fatkoura smiled scornfully.