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The Japanese said solemnly:

“There are several things in life it is impossible to do, exalted sir. We cannot throw a stone to the sun, or scatter a fog with a fan. We cannot build a bridge to the clouds. With this little hand I cannot dip up the ocean. We bow to the elevated wisdom of the West your excellency has come to teach us in honorable chemistry and physics, but, though we humbly solicit pardon for thus stating, there is nothing your augustness can tell us of our own beliefs—and knowledge.”

He made a slight, stiff sign to his attendants and they assisted him to arise. The American stood up also. He was smiling grimly.

“When the snows melt,” he said, “I shall ask for guides of your excellency, and personally make a pilgrimage to the lair of this dreaded fox-woman of the mountains.”

At that the Daimio’s officer’s face distinctly paled. His impassive features were anxious, troubled.

“What does your augustness seek to do?—regenerate one without a soul?”

“I wish merely to see her. She must be an interesting specimen—of her kind.”