did not banish it from her heart, but hid it away in vermilion silk to speculate upon in secret.
She would be the most envied woman in Changan, for she was to become the concubine of Prince Shou, son of Ming Huang, the beloved Emperor. To be sure there would be other concubines. Prince Shou perhaps had a First Wife. She looked at her slender hands, expressive hands. On the fingernail of each finger she had tied a balsam flower petal. Slowly she began to untie the strands of silk. Yes, the petals had been on long enough. Her nails were an exquisite pinky red that was indelible.
Perhaps someday she would be a Princess, later still—She hesitated to go on. It was true that Prince Shou was only the eighteenth son of the Emperor, but fortunately, in China succession did not of necessity go to the oldest son, even if he survived the mysterious diseases of Empire. So many had died from choking on their own blood. It was not always healthy to be an Emperor's son. A knife in the throat was a disease for which the cleverest doctors had not been able to find an antidote. Succession went to that fortunate person whom the Emperor had designated his heir.
The hibiscus blossom in her hair seemed to take on new color, reflecting the glow in her eyes, and the petal softness of her lips. She had a part to play that was intricate. Each move must be carefully drought out. She sighed. What a pity it was that she was not as small as that legendary princess who was so tiny she was able to
dance on a man's hand. She watched the young larches,
