A voice asked, "is this the room?" and a small group of geisha entered. I was a bit surprised, but trapped as I was against the wall, I just kept still and watched. I saw Red Shirt, who had been leaning on an alcove post proudly smoking his signature amber pipe, suddenly straighten up and prepare to take his leave. One of the geisha, who had entered from the opposite side of the room, smiled and greeted him in passing. She was the youngest and prettiest of the lot. I couldn't hear for the distance, but it appeared that she said 'good evening.' He ignored her and made his exit, and that was the last we saw of him. Most likely he followed after the principal and made his way home.
The arrival of the geisha brought sudden energy to the room. A great noise erupted, as if the entire party were greeting them with a victory cry. Some of the fellows took up nanko. Their shouts were every bit as forceful as those of a master swordsman. On this side they were playing morra. The players were thoroughly engrossed in the game, shaking their hands with more dexterity than the D'Arc marionette troupe. From the far corner they shouted for saké service. Then they shook the bottle and shouted instead for a replenishment of supplies. The racket became intolerable. In the midst of all this, Uranari brooded idly and gazed at the floor. They hadn't arranged this party to lament his departure, but rather to drink and carouse. He'd ended up alone to suffer in his own ennui. Such a farewell party he could have done better without.