away. What shall I do? Reply Saito Hotel, Shiogama. Maru." His first impulse was to reply "Come at once," for the unexplained opposition had increased his desire to make a settlement, but, on second thoughts, the consideration for women, which I had already remarked as a kindly trait in his character, prompted this unkind response: "Go home; do not come to Tōkyō; will write." The letter took the sting from the telegram, for he explained how foolish it would be to leave home without her family's consent, as it might well happen in such a case that when he returned to France Maru's uncle might refuse to take her back. He repeated that, unless she could be spared (and of course he would recompense the hotel-keeper for loss of service), their proposed trip must be abandoned. So, the futile colloquy along the wires began again. Two days after: "All right at home. Am coming soon (sono uchi). Reply." But this time the student of Japanese was not to be put off with sono uchi. He replied: "Come by first train to-morrow, or not at all. Am leaving Tōkyō." As a matter of fact, he was going to Kose, while I was due at Ikao, and we should travel together as far as Karuizawa. Late the following evening, after spending the whole day in the theatre, he was handed a telegram by the hotel manager, who had not thought it his duty to send direct to the Kabuki-za, in which were these words: "I have missed the train. Box at station. Reply. Maru." Then the Frenchman lost his temper. He was quite incapable of playing the Oriental game of patience, and preferred to throw up the cards. This reply, brutal in its brevity, was flashed to poor Maru: "Too late. Do not come."
