"Yes, yes, Lord," whispered Yuki, speaking now for the first time.
"Should the mad soul clamor on for earthly desire, ignoring what is high,--then will the Red God burn, burn, burn, even as the heated heart of evil passion burns; and the power of that suppliant to do evil will be strengthened. Circumstances may be compelled, and the wish, however harmful, be attained. With each new triumph of a soul, the merit of the picture deepens; with each malefic use, the evil grows more strong."
"What, Lord, would be the penalty--what to a wicked soul would be the price?" asked Yuki's bloodless lips.
"Your early training was Buddhistic, child," answered Hagané, in the gentlest of voices. "You know the doctrine of rebirth! Instinct tells you the price already."
Tetsujo had withdrawn his eyes from their fierce contemplation of his daughter, as if the sight continually fed his anger. He rocked now, with downcast eyes and folded arms, on his cushion, ignoring everything but his own black thoughts.
Gwendolen tried in vain to catch Yuki's eye. She saw that already Yuki was betraying what Hagané and old Onda wished to know. The moment was fatal and memorable.
The servant now returned, bearing a long box of dull red lacquer. Yuki shivered so that all saw her.
"Examine the quaint carvings of devils, Monsieur," said Hagané to Pierre, with light affability. As Pierre leaned to take the box, Yuki gave an imperceptible start forward, caught her breath, and then resumed self-control.
"Gems, all of them!" cried Pierre, in impersonal delight. "They are unbelievable in cleverness. Each seems an evil passion caught in fleeting human form."
"Monsieur is intuitive. They are hungry spirits of the Gaki underworld, creatures of ever aching, ever unsatisfied desires. The Hindoo scriptures call them 'preta.' Perhaps you Christians have not such uncomfortable passions, ne?"
Gwendolen had another shock to receive. In this new light, flashed past before one realized its presence, Hagané showed to her the eyes of a demon, a creature of power and of passion. She recoiled from him as from the supernatural. The new discomfort was vented on the box. "Let us have the picture, Prince, or I'll go wild. Please, somebody sit on that box,--the squirming devils give me a waking nightmare. Why did anybody want to carve such things?"