Seeing that his falsehood had been discovered, Ming-Y dared not make any reply, and remained abashed and silent, with bowed head, in the presence of his father.  Then Pelou, striking the boy violently with his staff, commanded him to divulge the secret; and at last, partly through fear of his parent, and partly through fear of the law which ordains that “the son refusing to obey his father shall be punished with one hundred blows of the bamboo,” Ming-Y faltered out the history of his love.

Tchang changed color at the boy’s tale.  “Child,” exclaimed the High Commissioner, “I have no relative of the name of Ping; I have never heard of the woman you describe; I have never heard even of the house which you speak of.  But I know also that you cannot dare to lie to Pelou, your honored father; there is some strange delusion in all this affair.”

Then Ming-Y produced the gifts that Sie had given him,—­the lion of yellow jade, the brush-case of carven agate, also some original compositions made by the beautiful lady herself.  The astonishment of Tchang was now shared by Pelou.  Both observed that the brush-case of agate and the lion of jade bore the appearance of objects that had lain buried in the earth for centuries, and were of a workmanship beyond the power of living man to imitate; while the compositions proved to be veritable master-pieces of poetry, written in the style of the poets of the dynasty of Thang.

“Friend Pelou,” cried the High Commissioner, “let us immediately accompany the boy to the place where he obtained these miraculous things, and apply the testimony of our senses to this mystery.  The boy is no doubt telling the truth; yet his story passes my understanding.”  And all three proceeded toward the place of the habitation of Sie.

* * * * *

But when they had arrived at the shadiest part of the road, where the perfumes were most sweet and the mosses were greenest, and the fruits of the wild peach flushed most pinkly, Ming-Y, gazing through the groves, uttered a cry of dismay.  Where the azure-tiled roof had risen against the sky, there was now only the blue emptiness of air; where the green-and-gold facade had been, there was visible only the flickering of leaves under the aureate autumn light; and where the broad terrace had extended, could be discerned only a ruin,—­a tomb so ancient, so deeply gnawed by moss, that the name graven upon it was no longer decipherable.  The home of Sie had disappeared!

All suddenly the High Commissioner smote his forehead with his hand, and turning to Pelou, recited the well-known verse of the ancient poet Tching-Kou:—­

    “Surely the peach-flowers blossom over
    the tomb of SIE-THAO.”