The Kingdom of Slender Swords

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  THE LADY OF THE MANY-COLORED FIRES

  The spacious residence of the Minister of Marine that night was a mazeof light. All social Tokyo would be at the ball in honor of the Admiraland officers of the visiting Squadron.

  It was late when Daunt turned his steps thither through the fragrantevening. The deciphering of a voluminous telegram had kept him at theChancery till eleven.

  All that day he had worked with a delicious exhilaration rioting in hispulses. He had not seen Barbara, but her face had seemed always beforehim--quiveringly passionate as he had seen it in Ben-ten's cave, hazedwith daring softness as it had turned to his on the steps of the railwaycarriage. There had been moments when some aroma of the spring air madehim catch his breath, mindful of the crisp, sweet scent of her hair orthe maddening fragrance of her lips. He thought of "Big" Murray and hisletter, at which he had bridled--how long ago? He understood now whatthe complacent old pirate had been talking about! He would have anepistle to write him to-morrow in return! To-night he was to see her! Infancy he could feel her slim hand on his sleeve as they danced--couldsee himself sitting with her in some dusky alcove sweet withplum-blossoms--could hear her say ...

  A hoarse warning from a _betto_ and he sprang aside for a carriage thatdashed past through the gateway. He shook himself with a laugh andwalked on through the shrubbery. By day it was a place of mossy shadows,of shrubberied red-lacquer bridges and glimmering cascades; now itspolished dwarf-pines and twisted cypresses gleamed with red paperlanterns that hung like goblin fruit and quivered, monster misshapengold-fish, in the miniature lake. Along the drives stood policemen,wearing white trousers and gloves. Each held a paper lantern paintedwith the Minister's _mon_ or family crest. Farther on carriages becamethicker, till the approach was a crawling stream of gleaming blackenamel, sweating horses, crackling whips, and shouting _bettos_. Dauntpicked his way among these to where a wide swath of electric lightbeneath the porte-cochere struck into high relief a strip of scarletcarpet.

  The interior was dressed with that marvelous attention to minutiae andartistic _ensemble_ that is characteristically Japanese. The great hallwas brilliant _opera bouffe_: a mingling crowd of gold-braided uniformscrossed by colored cordons and flashing with decorations, white necksand shoulders rising from dainty French gowns, gleaming lights, Japanesemen in European costume, languorous black eyes under shining Japanesehead-dresses, and silken _kimono_ woven in tints as soft as dreams. Inthe large central room opposite was hung a painting of the Emperor.Japanese who passed it did so reverently. They did not turn their backs.Some of the older ones bowed low before it and withdrew backward.Through a doorway came glimpses of couples on a polished floor swayingto music that swelled and ebbed unceasingly, and down a long vista apink dazzle of cherry-blooms under a cloth roof. Over all was the exoticperfume of flowers.

  Daunt had seen many such affairs where the blending of colors andsounds, the scintillant shifting of forms, had been but a maze.To-night's, however, was wound in a glory. All these decorative people,this scented echo of laughter and music, existed only to form akaleidoscopic setting for the one woman. He went to search for her withhis handsome head erect, his shoulders square and a color in his face.

  He passed through several rooms, revealing one oriental picture afteranother. In one a series of glass-cases reproduced a _daimyo's_procession in Old Japan: hundreds of dolls, six inches high, fashionedin elaborate detail--coolies with banners; chest-bearers; caparisonedhorses; bullock-carts with huge, black lacquer wheels; _samurai_,visored and clad in armor, with glittering swords and lances. In anotherwere cabinets spread with pieces of priceless gold-lacquer that had costa lifetime of loving labor. A third the host denominated his"ghost-room," since it was lined with quaint pottery unearthed inancient Korean tombs. These rooms were filled with the social world ofthe capital, a gay glimmer of urbanity set off against masses of all theblossoms of spring. In the last room the host stood with the visitingAdmiral and several Ambassadors. He was a perfect type of the modernJapanese of affairs, a diplomatist as well as a seasoned Admiral. He hadbeen at Annapolis in '75 and his wife was a graduate of Wellesley. Hewas one of the strongest of the powerful coterie which was shaping thedestinies of new Japan. Daunt greeted him and paused to chat a whilewith his own chief and Mrs. Dandridge. Her gown was gray and silver,with soft old lace that accentuated the youthful contour of her face,and framed the graciousness and charm that made her marked in howevercharming and gracious an assembly. Barbara was not there.

  He entered a veranda where people sat at little tables eating icesfrozen in the shape of Fuji, under fairy lamps whose tiny bamboo andpaper shades were delicately painted with sworls of water and swimmingcarp. From one group the Baroness Stroloff waved a hand to him, butBarbara was not there. Beyond, through a canopied doorway, hung thecherry-blooms. He paused on the threshold. It was a portion of thegarden walled in with white cloth, and roofed with blue and gold. Thespace thus inclosed was set with cherry-trees from whose every gray twigdepended the great pink pendants. It was floored with soft carpeting, inthe center a fountain tinkled coolly, and the roof was dotted withincandescents. In this retreat the violins of the ball-room wovedreamily with the talk and laughter, tenuous and ghost-like, soft as themusic of memory. She was not there. Daunt turned back, threaded the halland entered the ball-room.

  There, through the shifting crowd, over flashing uniforms and diamondedtiaras, he saw her. Beside her stood a little countess, one of the notedcourt beauties, lotos-pale, bamboo-slender, in a _kimono_ of Danjiroblue, with woven lilies. In the clear radiance, Barbara stood almostsurrounded. Her white satin gown shimmered in the light, which caughtlike globes of fire in the gold passion-flowers with which it wasembroidered. A new sense of her beauty poured over him. She had alwaysseemed lovely, but now her loveliness was touched with something removedand spiritual. In the blaze of light she looked as delicately pale as amoon-dahlia, but a spot of color was on either cheek and her eyes werevery bright. Daunt stood still, feasting his gaze.

  The Baroness Stroloff paused beside him, chatting with the CabinetMinister and the representative of the Associated Press. They watchedthe forms flit past in the swinging rhythm of the _deux-temps_, _kimono_weaving with black coats and uniforms, varnished pumps gliding withmilk-white _tabi_ and velvet pattens. "Pretty tinted creatures," shesaid. "How do they ever keep on those little thonged sandals?"

  "Ah, their toes were born to them," the journalist answered.

  The statesman shrugged his shoulders. "Waltzing in _kimono_ with men isvery, very modern for our Japanese ladies," he said. "I myself never sawit until two years ago--when the American Fleet was here. Thatestablished it as a fashion. Some of us older ones may frown,but--_shikata-ga-nai!_ 'Way out there is none,' as we say in ourlanguage. It's a part of the process of Westernization!"

  Daunt started when Patricia's fan tapped his arm.

  "You're frightfully late," she said, as her partner, the German_Charge_, bowed himself away. "Father will give you a wigging if youdon't look out."

  "I saw him a few moments ago," he answered. "He didn't seem veryfierce."

  "Was he still looking at those spooky curios? I can't see what anybodywants such things for! I always feel like saying what Mark Twain's mansaid when they showed him the mummy: 'If you've got any nice freshcorpse, trot him out.'"

  Daunt's smile was a mechanism. She knew that he had ceased to listen. Asshe looked at his side-face with her clear, kind eyes, a shadow came toher own. Her loyal heart was troubled. After her drive that afternoon,Barbara had kept her room on the plea of rest for the evening; she hadnot come down to dinner and had appeared only at the moment of starting.At the first glance, then, Patricia had noticed the change. The Barbarashe had always known, of flashing impulses and girlish graces, was gone;the Barbara of the evening had seemed suddenly older, of even rarerbeauty, perhaps, but with something of detachment, of unfamiliarity.Riding beside her to the ball,
Patricia had felt, under the eager,brilliant gaiety, this chilly sense of estrangement, and it had puzzledher. Later she had come to connect it with the man of whose comingBarbara had told her, the man with handsome, bearded face who hadseemed, since his greeting in the moment of their entrance, to takeunobtrusive yet assured possession of such of her moments as were notgiven to the great. Withal, he had lent this an air of the natural andhabitual which, nicely poised and completely conventional as it was,seemed to convey a subtle atmosphere of proprietorship. So now, as shesaw Daunt's gaze, Patricia was a little sad. There had fallen a silencebetween them which he broke with a sudden exclamation.

  "No wonder!" he said.

  "No wonder what?"

  "That she is a success."

  "Success! I should think so. She's danced with three Ambassadors andPrince Hojo sat out two numbers with her. Just look at the men aroundher now!"

  The music had drifted into a waltz and the group about Barbara wasdissolving. A dark face was bending near. Its owner put his arm abouther and they glided into the throng. Ware, like all heavy men, dancedperfectly and the pair seemed to skim the mirroring floor as easily asswallows, her red-bronze hair, caught under a web of seed-pearls,glowing like a net of fire-flies. Heads turned back over white shouldersand on the edges of the room people whispered as they passed. Floatinglightly as sea-foam, the shimmering gown drew near, passing so closethat Daunt could have touched it. The lovely white face, over herpartner's shoulder, met Daunt's. For a fraction of a second Barbara'seyes looked into his--then swept by as if he had been empty air. It wasas if a clenched hand had struck him across the face.

  He whitened. Patricia felt a sudden sting in her eyelids. She slippedher hand through his arm, and saying something about the heat (it wasdeliciously cool), drew him down the corridor. She chatted on airily,fighting a desire to cry. But when they came to the entrance of thecherry-blooms, he had not spoken a word.

  "I see mother still in the spook room," she said. "I must go back toher--no, please don't come with me! Thank you so much for bringing me sofar."

  She left him with a nod and a bright smile that he did not see. He wasin a painful quicksand of bewilderment. The cherry-garden was almostempty and the fountain tinkled in a perfumed quiet. He sat down on abench in its farthest corner. What did it mean? Why, it had been likethe cut direct! From her?--impossible! She had not seen him! He had beenmistaken! He would go to her--now! He sprang up.

  A page came into the garden. He was a part of the Minister'sestablishment; Daunt had often seen him in that house. He carried a traywith a letter on it.

  "For you, sir," he said.

  Puzzled, Daunt took it and the boy withdrew. It bore no address. He toreit open. It contained some folded sheets of paper. A tense whitenesssprang to his face as he unfolded them. It was his letter--the onlylove-letter he had ever written--torn across.

  Now he knew! It had been true--what he had imagined of the yacht! Thecherry-trees seemed to writhe about him, bizarre one-legged dancerswaving pink draperies, and a tide of resentment and grief rose in hisbreast as hot as lava. Had she been only playing with him, then? Whenshe had lain panting in his arms in Ben-ten's cave--when her lips hadquivered to his kisses--had it all been acting? Was this what she reallywas, his "Lady of the Many-Colored Fires?" He, poor fool! had deemed itreal, when it had been only a week's amusement. He had almost guessedthe truth that night at the tea-house, and how cleverly she had fooledhim! His jarring laugh rang out across the tinkle of the fountain. Then,Austen Ware's telegram! It was he who had danced with her to-night, nodoubt--Phil's brother. For her the little play was over. The curtain hadto be rung down, and this was how she did it.

  Dim thoughts like these went flitting through the gap of his rackedsenses. He dropped on the bench and bowed his head between his hands. Ithad been real enough to him. Painted on his closed eyelids he seemed tosee, with a chill, numb certainty, his future unrolling like a graypanorama, incoherent and unwhole, its colors lack-luster, its purposedenied, its meaning missed. Pain lifted its snake-head from the shadowsand hissed in his ear, like the jubilant serpent that coiled its brightlength by the gate of Eden when the flaming sword drove forth the firstman to the desert of despair.

  Daunt did not know that Patricia, pausing in the corridor, had seen theletter delivered and opened. She went back to her mother with a slowstep.

  "You look worn, dear," said Mrs. Dandridge, as they entered theball-room. "Are you tired?"

  "Yes," she said. "I think I won't dance any more, mother."

  The host had entered before them and now stood at the end of the roomwith the Admiral of the Squadron and the Ambassador of the latter'snation. Suddenly a young man pushed hastily through the press. He handedhis chief a telegram. The Ambassador scanned it, changed color, and heldit out to the Admiral with shaking hand. The Secretary who had broughtit said something to the Foreign Minister, who turned instantly to givea quick order to a servant. The orchestra stopped with a crash.

  There was a dead hush over the brilliant room-full, broken only by themovement of the Squadron's officers as they came hurriedly forwardbeside their Admiral. All looked at the white-haired diplomatist whostood, his eyes full of tears, the pink telegram in his hand.

  He addressed the grave group of naval men. "Gentlemen," he said, in alow voice, "I have the great grief to announce the sudden death to-dayof His Majesty, the King."

  He bowed to his host, and, followed by the Admiral and his officers,left the house. The Ambassadors and Ministers of the other powers, inorder of their precedence, each with his glittering staff and theirladies about him, followed. The gaiety was over; it had ceased at thefar-away echo of a nation's bells, tolling half a world away.

  * * * * *

  The great house was almost emptied of its guests when the solitaryfigure that had sat in the cherry-garden passed out along the desertedcorridors. Daunt went utterly oblivious that its bright pageantry haddeparted. A feverish color was in his cheek and his eyes were dulledwith a painful apathy.

  Count Voynich was lighting a cigarette in the cloak room as he entered."_Sic transit!_" he said. "This calls a quick halt on the plans of theSquadron's entertainment, doesn't it!"

  There was no answer. Daunt was fumbling, from habit, for the lettereddisk of wood in his pocket.

  "If the King could have lived a few weeks longer," said Voynich, "we'dhave heard no more talk of trouble with Japan. He was a greatpeacemaker. The new regent may be less circumspect. What do you think?"

  No reply. He spoke again sharply.

  "I say, Miss Fairfax seems to be making a tremendous walkover, eh?"

  There was only silence. Daunt did not hear him. Voynich looked at hisface, whistled softly under his breath, and went quietly away.