Thus, unsought as it were, there was placed within Chang Tao’s grasp a staff that might haply bear his weight into the very presence of Melodious Vision herself.  The exact strategy of the undertaking did not clearly yet reveal itself, but “When fully ripe the fruit falls of its own accord,” and Chang Tao was content to leave such detail to the guiding spirits of his destinies.  As he approached the outer door he sang cheerful ballads of heroic doings, partly because he was glad, but also to reassure himself.

“One whom he expects awaits,” he announced to the keeper of the gate.  “The name of Wo, the son of Weh, should suffice.”

“It does not,” replied the keeper, swinging his roomy sleeve specifically.  “So far it has an empty, short-stopping sound.  It lacks sparkle; it has no metallic ring. . . .  He sleeps.”

“Doubtless the sound of these may awaken him,” said Chang Tao, shaking out a score of cash.

“Pass in munificence.  Already his expectant eyes rebuke the unopen door.”

Although he had been in a measure prepared by Wo, Chang Tao was surprised to find that three persons alone occupied the chamber to which he was conducted.  Two of these were Shen Yi and a trusted slave; at the sight of the third Chang Tao’s face grew very red and the deficiencies of his various attributes began to fill his mind with dark forebodings, for this was Melodious Vision and no man could look upon her without her splendour engulfing his imagination.  No record of her pearly beauty is preserved beyond a scattered phrase or two; for the poets and minstrels of the age all burned what they had written, in despair at the inadequacy of words.  Yet it remains that whatever a man looked for, that he found, and the measure of his requirement was not stinted.

“Greeting,” said Shen Yi, with easy-going courtesy.  He was a more meagre man than Chang Tao had expected, his face not subtle, and his manner restrained rather than oppressive.  “You have come on a long and winding path; have you taken your rice?”

“Nothing remains lacking,” replied Chang Tao, his eyes again elsewhere.  “Command your slave, Excellence.”

“In what particular direction do your agreeable powers of leisure-beguiling extend?”

So far Chang Tao had left the full consideration of this inevitable detail to the inspiration of the moment, but when the moment came the prompting spirits did not disclose themselves.  His hesitation became more elaborate under the expression of gathering enlightenment that began to appear in Melodious Vision’s eyes.

“An indifferent store of badly sung ballads,” he was constrained to reply at length, “and—­perchance—­a threadbare assortment of involved questions and replies.”

“Was it your harmonious voice that we were privileged to hear raised beneath our ill-fitting window a brief space ago?” inquired Shen Yi.

“Admittedly at the sight of this noble palace I was impelled to put my presumptuous gladness into song.”