"Gomen nasai" ("I beg your pardon").
It was a familiar, deprecatory voice, accompanied by the clapping of hands.
Cho-Cho-San smiled wearily, and called the maid.
"Oh, Suzuki, Goro the nakodo—he is without. Shaka and all the gods defend us now!"
The two exchanged glances of amusement, and the maid proceeded to admit him.
Madame Butterfly received him with the odious lack of ceremony her independent life with Pinkerton had bred. She was imperially indifferent. The go-between pointed out how sad this was to as beautiful a woman as she.
"Is it a trouble to you?" she asked, perking her head aside.
The nakodo only sighed gloomily.
Madame Butterfly laughed.
"Poor, nize liddle ole man," said she, with specious pity, in politest English; "do not trouble 'bout me. Do not arrive any more if it pains you."
"I must; you have no parents now—nor anyone. You are outcast."
"Ah-h-h! But will you not permit me to suffer the lack?"
