the grace and suppleness of her stride. Genji looked round at her. ‘Let us sit down for a minute on the railing here in the corner,’ he said. ‘She seems very shy’ he thought, ‘but how charmingly her hair falls about her shoulders,’ and he recited the poem: ‘Though I would not be thought to wander heedlessly from flower to flower, yet this morning’s pale convolvulus I fain would pluck!’ As he said the lines he took her hand and she answered with practised ease: ‘You hasten, I observe, to admire the morning flowers while the mist still lies about them,’ thus parrying the compliment by a verse which might be understood either in a personal or general sense. At this moment a very elegant page wearing the most bewitching baggy trousers came among the flowers brushing the dew as he walked, and began to pick a bunch of the convolvuli. Genji longed to paint the scene.
No one could see him without pleasure. He was like the flowering tree under whose shade even the rude mountain peasant delights to rest. And so great was the fascination he exercised that those who knew him longed to offer him whatever was dearest to them. One who had a favourite daughter would ask for nothing better than to make her Genji’s handmaiden. Another who had an exquisite sister was ready for her to serve in his household, though it were at the most menial tasks. Still less could these ladies who on such occasions as this were privileged to converse with him and stare at him as much as they pleased, and were moreover young people of much sensibility—how could they fail to delight in his company and note with much uneasiness that his visits were becoming far less frequent than before?
But where have I got to? Ah, yes. Koremitsu had patiently continued the enquiry with which Genji entrusted him. ‘Who the mistress is’ he said, ‘I have not been able
