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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..19ac43f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65098 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65098) diff --git a/old/65098-0.txt b/old/65098-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ed04fe9..0000000 --- a/old/65098-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11524 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Daughters of Men, by Hannah Lynch - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Daughters of Men - -Author: Hannah Lynch - -Release Date: April 17, 2021 [eBook #65098] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAUGHTERS OF MEN *** - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber’s note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -DAUGHTERS OF MEN - -BY - -HANNAH LYNCH - -AUTHOR OF -“TROUBLED WATERS,” ETC. - -NEW YORK - -JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY - -150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1892, - -BY - -UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY - -[_All rights reserved._] - - - - -TO DEMETRIOS BIKELAS. - - -MY DEAR FRIEND, - -Of your kindly interpretation of the laughter here and there in this -volume, purporting to be a picture of modern Greek life, I have no -doubt. You at least know that I lack neither friendship nor sympathy -with your race. We like not the less those whom we laugh at, provided -our laughter is not meant to wound. For are not our own absurdities and -weaknesses mirrored in those of others? - -My more serious preoccupation is the accuracy of my judgment and -observation. For any errors on this ground I claim your indulgence. The -foreign observer is proverbially impertinent and inaccurate, as we in -Ireland have sad reason to know. We do not lack our Abouts, though it -may be doubted if we accept them in a spirit so generous as you do. - -In placing your name before my story, I may be said to hoist the -colours of Greece, and under them dare sail my little bark of Greek -passengers without any fear of coming to grief upon Hellenic shores, -should I have the honour to penetrate so far. - -H. L. - - - - -DAUGHTERS OF MEN. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -AT THE AUSTRIAN EMBASSY. - - -The Austrian embassy at Athens was more largely and more brilliantly -attended than usual. At nine o’clock the Patissia Road showed a -line of carriages going backward towards the Platea Omonia from the -gaily-lighted embassy. All the foreign ministers were there, as -well as the Prime Minister of Greece, and whatever distinguished -travellers Athens had the honour of entertaining at that time,--it -being winter, there was a goodly number. A Russian Prince or two, -presented by the Russian minister; two eminent English politicians on -their way to Constantinople for a confidential exchange of views with -the Sublime Sultan, to be remembered by jewelled snuff-boxes or some -such trifles; a sprightly French mathematician straight from Paris -the Blest; a half-dozen of celebrated archæologists, furnished by -Europe and the United States, all viewing each other with more or less -malevolence and suspicion--the Frenchman noticeably not on speaking -terms with his distinguished brother from Germany; Dr. Jarovisky of -world renown, fresh from Pergamos and recent discoveries at Argos, -speaking various languages as badly as possible; a genial and witty -Irish professor rushing through Greece with the intention of writing -an exhaustive analysis of the country and the people, in that spirit -of amiable impertinence so characteristic of hasty travellers. There -was the flower of the so-called Greek aristocracy: Phanariote Princes, -Græco-Italian Counts from Zante and Corfu, and retired merchants and -speculators from Constantinople and Smyrna and London. There was -a Greek poet, hardly distinguishable in accent and manner from a -Parisian, except in a detail of appearance which gave him the head -of a convict, so hideously do the Hellenes shave their heads to look -as if they wore mouse-coloured skull caps; a prose translator of -Shakespeare, who had lately visited the Immortal’s shrine at Warwick, -and, in the interests of local colouring modelled himself since his -return as closely as possible upon the accepted type of the English man -of letters, and surveyed the frivolities under his eye with a British -impassivity and glacial neutrality of gaze. All the musical dilettanti -of the city of the Wise Maid were there, and all its presentable -women. Some of the girls were pretty, and all were thickly powdered -and richly dressed; all had large, brilliant dark eyes. And the gowns -and frocks from Paris, the jewels, lace, aigrettes, flowers, and bare -arms and shoulders made an effective and troublous contrast with the -preponderance of masculine evening attire and semi-official splendour. - -This large and distinguished gathering had been convened in honour of -the return to her native city of Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhuber, a -celebrated pianiste, the rival and friend of Rubinstein, the pupil -of Liszt and not greatly inferior to her master, who, at Vienna, had -been publicly named by him Queen of Pianists to match his recognised -kingliness. All Athens was on tiptoe of expectation, eager to hear her, -and still more eager to see her. It is not known, but extravagantly -conjectured, with what sum the Baroness von Hohenfels was able to bid -over the heads of her rival salonists and procure the honour of the -Natzelhuber’s first appearance in Athens. Sane and discerning persons -were probably right in putting it down to francs represented by four -figures, for Austrian baronesses have a pretty accurate knowledge of -the value of money. But for the moment six figures were supposed to -represent the sum, and the matter was discussed with that singular -absence of reserve or delicacy with which fashionable and well-bred -society is apt to discuss the affairs of its host in the host’s own -house. - -Through the confused mingling of languages French could be detected as -the most universal. A fair, pale young man, with the grave questioning -air of a stranger who is disagreeably conscious of being shy and ill at -ease, and, above all, utterly and helplessly alone, was walking about -the rooms, amazed and bewildered by this Babel of tongues and types, -and seemed to entreat by his look of gentle fear that no one should -notice him or talk to him. He stared around with unquiet, troubled -blue eyes, so very blue, so hopelessly, stupidly frank and clear, like -a child’s, that they made more noticeable the extreme youthfulness -of his face and most slender figure. A mere boy, twenty-one years of -innocence and ignorance leaving him on the brink of manhood with only -the potentialities of his sex faintly shadowed in the lightest gold -stain above the soft upper lip. He had just stepped into the glare and -turmoil of life from the protected shadow of an isolated old castle -in Rapolden Kirchen, with no more reliable and scientific guide to -the mysteries of existence than a tender and nervous mother, who, -after bringing him up like a girl, had left him for another sphere, -and no other knowledge of the passions and their complex sensations -than that to be gathered in a close and fervent study of music. It is -easy to picture him. A reserved lad of high-bred Austrian type, with -a glacially pure face, and heart fluttering with girlish timidity, -half-frightened and half-attracted by the world he interprets in the -vague light of his own pathetic ignorance, just conscious of opening -curiosities upon the eternal feminine, and ready to sink with shame the -instant a strange woman looked at him. - -“Who is that charming boy?” asked a handsome old lady, whose motherly -heart was touched by the childish uneasiness and loneliness of his -attitude. - -“That fair-haired young fellow near the window?” her companion -answered. “Nice looking, isn’t he? A very pretty young lady, eh?” - -“Don’t be so malicious. Men are always jealous of a handsome boy. You -know how powerfully he appeals to our sympathetic sex. But who is he?” - -“Rudolph Ehrenstein--a nephew of Madame von Hohenfels. He has just lost -his mother, and is travelling in search of distraction. Some of these -young ladies will doubtless take compassion on him.” - -“Yes, with that pretty face and doleful forsaken air he will not have -to go far for a willing consoler.” - -“It would be the very best thing for him,” said the popular poet, -joining them. “One never knows how much to believe of gossip, -especially in this centre of _canards_, but they speak of him already -as the Natzelhuber’s latest flame.” - -“Good heavens! Not possible, surely!” cried the old lady, in a tremor -of delighted horror. “He has the face of an angel.” - -“Angels have been known to fall, Madame,” said the poet, with his best -Parisian bow and cynical shrug, throwing a challenging glance at his -neighbour as if to defy him to prove that Théophile Gautier or Dumas -could have capped an observation more neatly; and then quoted with a -beatific consciousness of his own smartness: “L’ange n’est complet que -lorsqu’ il est déchu.” - -“Talk of women’s tongues! You men have never a good word to say either -of yourselves or of us.” - -“Is there not a proverb to that effect as regards the ladies?” - -“Calumny, my friend, pure calumny. Men have had the monopoly of -proverbs, and, of course, they have used them as they have used -everything else, against us. It does not follow that even the clever -man believes all the smart and satirical things he says of our sex, -but an arrow shot at us looks a smarter achievement than a juster -arrow aimed at yourselves. And the smart thing goes down to a duller -posterity, and there’s your proverb. Truth is as likely to be in it as -in the bottom of the proverbial well!” - -“I shall seek it henceforth in you, Madame. Can you tell me if there -is any truth in the announcement that the Natzelhuber is coming -to-night?” - -“Madame von Hohenfels looks certainly anxious and doubtful. You know -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber has an alarming reputation.” - -“Oh, yes, abominably eccentric--and ugly,” sighed the poet. - -Rudolph Ehrenstein, modestly unconscious that the reliable voice of -Public Opinion, glancing at his wings, had been pleased to pronounce -them singed and soiled, had retreated into a deep recess and was -nearly hidden by a silk curtain and tall palm branches. He sat down -on a low chair, and rejoiced that here, at least, there were no bare -obtrusive shoulders and brilliant orbs to dazzle him, no scented skirts -to trouble him, and that the murmur of varied tongues and voices and -the whirr of fans came to him in softened sound. He was just closing -his eyes to think of the old dim castle of Rapolden Kirchen and his -beloved mother, whose subdued manner and tone seemed to him the more -exquisite to remember because of the noisy and strongly perfumed women -around him, when a man near the door caught sight of him through his -gold-rimmed eyeglass, and starting forward, burst into his retreat -with clamorous recognition and two extended hands, the offering of -demonstrative friendship. - -“Delighted, charming boy, delighted to see you so soon again. Heard -from the baroness you were expected in Athens, but no idea you would be -here to-night.” - -“I arrived last evening,” said Ehrenstein, standing up and grasping the -proffered hands with a look of relief, as if he found the necessary -restorative in their touch. “What a quantity of strangers there are -here! All their different languages have made my head ache.” - -His companion was a rich Greek merchant from Trieste, who was arrayed -in extremely florid evening dress and wore a very large white camelia. -He glanced at the boy’s mourning studs and sighed as if recalled -suddenly to the stern sorrows of life, and then blew a little whiff -which expressed the recognised evanescence of even sorrow and -bereavement, and thrust their presence from him. - -“Well, you see, we Greeks have to draw very largely upon foreign -countries for our entertainments,” he said, slipping his arm into -Ehrenstein’s and dragging him gently out of the recess. “As a Greek -from abroad, I regret to say that it would be impossible to mix with -the pure Athenians for any purposes of social pleasure. They can -neither talk, dance, nor eat like civilised beings. In fact, my dear -Ehrenstein, they are not civilised.” - -“What a dreadful thing to say of the descendants of the ancient -Greeks,” laughed Rudolph. - -“Oh, the ancient Greeks!” exclaimed Agiropoulos, airily. “If you are -going back to those old fossils, I will candidly admit that I am out of -my depth. There is nothing I am more heartily sick of than the ancient -Greek. There’s Jarovisky over there, a perfect lunatic on the subject. -Homer for breakfast, Homer for dinner, and Homer for supper admits of -variety with improvement. He reads Homer on the terrace by moonlight, -and falls asleep with Homer under his pillow. My opinion of the ancient -Greeks is, that they were not one whit better than their amiable -representatives of to-day. They were men of great natural eloquence -and literary gifts, and knew how to lay on their colours with an eye -to future generations. But we have only their version, and it would -require at least twenty connecting evidences to prove the word of one -Athenian. Why, to hear them talk to-day, one might imagine theirs the -chief nation of Europe, and Athens its handsomest capital--dull, ugly -little Athens!” - -They were walking round the rooms, when Agiropoulos, surveying the -crowd through his aggressive eyeglass, suddenly asked his friend if he -had been introduced to any ladies. - -“I have been introduced to nobody yet except the Greek Minister--oh, I -forgot, a young English attaché.” - -“Ah, I see the baroness is resolved to keep you hovering yearningly -upon the skirts of paradise. Never mind, my child, I will find you -a houri. There is a very handsome brunette, the prettiest girl in -Athens. Her French is fit for the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and her _dot_ -acceptable should your views incline that way. My faith, I would not -object to either myself, but my time has not come for settling down. -Butterfly, you know, from sweet to sweet, and that sort of thing. Sad -dog, as those droll English say. Ah!----” - -Before Rudolph could demand an explanation of this singular and -enigmatic avowal, understood by even such white innocence as his to -hint at something darkly and yet pleasantly irregular, the Baroness -von Hohenfels bore down upon the young men with a disturbed expression -of face. She tapped Agiropoulos on the shoulder with her fan, and said -hurriedly:-- - -“My dear M. Agiropoulos, I am greatly alarmed about the Natzelhuber. -You, I believe, are the best authority on her movements and caprices. -Do you know why she has not come?” - -“I do not, indeed, Madame la Baronne,” answered Agiropoulos, bowing, -and twirling his moustache with a fatuous smile. “But it is not so very -late.” - -“Don’t you know what very primitive hours we keep in Athens?” the -baroness cried testily. “Did you see her to-day, Rudolph?” - -Young Ehrenstein flushed and shrank a little with a hint of anxious -pain in his blue eyes. - -“No, aunt, I called, but Mademoiselle Natzelhuber was not visible,” he -said. - -Agiropoulos looked at him sharply with an imperceptible frown, and -then, turning to his hostess, resumed his smile of fatuous security, -and said: - -“To relieve your doubts, Madame la Baronne, I will drive at once to the -lady’s house, and carry her back with me, if even I must employ force.” - -“Do so, and you will earn my lasting gratitude. We are all dying to -hear her play, and her name was the attraction to-night,” and Madame -von Hohenfels brightened. “Come with me, Rudolph. I must find you some -lively girl to chat you into good-humour. Delay as little as possible, -M. Agiropoulos.” - -Agiropoulos bowed low and retired, while Rudolph silently offered his -arm to his aunt, shrinking still and wounded. - -“It is a great disappointment that M. Reineke is not here to-night. -He, also, is a new lion--singularly handsome and captivating and very -clever, they say. He created quite a sensation in Paris last winter. -But he got ill coming from Egypt and I suppose he will make his first -appearance at the Jaroviskys’ ball next week.” - -“Is there to be a ball next week?” Rudolph asked listlessly. - -“Of course; are we not all vying to honour an English Cabinet minister? -He will probably write about us when he gets home.” - -“Who are those girls laughing so loudly?” Rudolph asked, with no -particular desire for information. - -“They belong to the American legation. Not exactly the choice I would -have you make in girls’ society, my dear,--intolerably loud and -vulgar,” said the Baroness, surveying them through her long-handled and -elegant _face-à-main_ which she raised to her eyes. “They represent the -United States--most deplorably. I want you to cultivate the society of -the Mowbray Thomases--English Embassy. Here is the son, Vincent, a very -nice boy who can speak intelligible French for a wonder, and will, I am -sure, be glad to teach you tennis and cricket.” - -“He is quite a boy,” cried Rudolph, cheerfully. “I shall be less afraid -of him than of your lively young ladies.” - -Agiropoulos had in the meantime driven to Academy Street, where -Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhuber was staying. He found the house in -complete darkness, and only when he had made a considerable noise did -a somnolent and astonished servant thrust her head out of a window and -demand his business. - -“Where is your mistress, Polyxena?” cried Agiropoulos. - -“In bed, sir.” - -“In the name of all that is wonderful, has Photini gone clean out of -her senses? In bed, and all Athens waiting for her at the Austrian -Embassy!” - -Polyxena leisurely unbolted the door, and Agiropoulos rushed past her -up the stairs, and hammered frantically outside Photini’s bedroom door. - -“Photini, get up and dress this instant. I insist. I swear I will not -leave off knocking until you come out--not even at the risk of driving -all the neighbours mad!” he shouted. - -“What the devil do you want at this time of night, Agiropoulos?” was -roared back to him. “I will box that girl’s ears for letting you in. -Stop that row. You must be drunk.” - -“Come, no nonsense, Photini. I am serious, on my soul I am. You’ve been -expected at the Austrian Embassy for the last hour and a half. It is -just eleven, and Athenian receptions break up at midnight, you know.” - -“I suppose they want me to play. I had forgotten all about it. The -mischief take the idiots! For goodness’ sake stop that noise, and I’ll -get up.” - -It was a little after eleven when a murmur ran through the rooms on the -Patissia Road that Agiropoulos had returned with the missing Pleiad. -Every one pressed eagerly forward to see the great and eccentric -artist. Corns were gratuitously trodden upon and the proprietors forgot -to swear, dresses were crushed, and no lady remembered to cover a cross -expression with a mendacious smile and a feeble “It does not matter;” -all faces wore an expression of open anxiety, curiosity, and wonder. - -“Quite a bear, I hear,” somebody whispered, audibly, “bites and snarls -even. Dresses abominably, and swears like a trooper.” - -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber entered the room a little in advance of -Agiropoulos, whose smile was one of radiant self-approval and -triumph,--he quite enjoyed this open recognition of his _ménage -irregulier_. Photini wore a look of hardly concealed contempt and -indifference, and advanced slowly, meeting the multitudinous gaze -of curiosity with a regal calmness. Her dress was dowdy and common: -she was stout and low-sized, but she succeeded in carrying off these -details with truly majestic grace. It was impossible to titter or -sneer; despite all shocks of disappointment, it was impossible not to -meet gravely that grave indifferent glance, and recognise a strange -kind of superiority in its lambent topaz imperturbability. All eyes -were fixed upon her but two boyish blue eyes that, after one swift -and inquiring look, were averted in a poignant confusion of emotions. -Instead, they rested on Agiropoulos. - -Madame von Hohenfels moved towards the artist with a gracious smile of -welcome, and expressed her pleasure in very cordial terms,--she could -afford to be exuberant now that she was relieved of the terror of this -woman’s possible defection. - -“This, I believe, is your first appearance in Athens after a long -absence, Mademoiselle Natzelhuber.” - -“Where is your piano, Madame? You did not invite me for the sake of my -handsome face, I suppose. Then pass compliments and come to business.” - -“Qu’elle est grossière,” was the comment that ran round the room, -and the English Cabinet Minister, the Right Honourable Samuel -Warren, gazed at her through his eyeglass, and lisped, “What a very -extraordinary creature!” One does not mix in the highest diplomatic -circles for nothing, and the Baroness von Hohenfels was perfectly -competent to extricate herself and her guests from an awkward situation -with both grace and glory. She laughed musically, as if something -specially witty had been said, and led the way to the grand piano. The -seat was a high one, and Photini tranquilly kicked it down, and gazed -around her in search of a low stool. Agiropoulos rushed forward with a -chair of the required height, and the artist sat down amid universal -silence and touched the keys lightly, upon which her nose might -conveniently have played, so near were both. After a few searching -bars she burst into Liszt’s splendid orchestral arrangement of “Don -Giovanni.” - -Agiropoulos cared nothing whatever about her music, and wandered round -the room till he reached the place where Ehrenstein was standing. - -“That was a delicate mission, eh, Ehrenstein?” he said, with his -persistent smile. “Successfully accomplished too.” - -“Its success is as apparent as its delicacy,” retorted Rudolph. He was -filled with astonishment at the wave of bitterness towards this oily -self-satisfied Greek that swelled within him. - -Agiropoulos caught the unmistakable ironical tone. - -“Might I request you to define your precise meaning, my young friend?” -he asked, drily. - -“That is easily done. You have acted to-night as no gentleman should.” - -All girlish timidity had faded out of Rudolph’s eyes, which flashed -like gem fire in the sparkle of honest indignation. - -“Ho! is that where we are?” cried the Greek, with a low exasperating -laugh, as he twisted his moustache and examined the gloss of his shoes. -“And the crime?” - -“In permitting my aunt to speak to you in a distinctly offensive way of -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, and in smiling as you did when you entered -the room with her.” - -“My dear fellow, what a simpleton you are to talk in this superannuated -style about the Natzelhuber.” - -“Mademoiselle Natzelhuber is a woman. An honourable gentleman makes no -distinction between women as regards certain laws. The same courtesy -and consideration are due to all.” - -“Don’t tilt against windmills in this extravagant way, Ehrenstein,” -said Agiropoulos, laughing good-humoredly. “Why, Photini would be the -first to laugh at us for a pair of imbeciles if she heard that we -quarrelled about her. She does not want consideration. She is rather a -fine fellow in a rough and manly way of her own--very rough, I admit.” - -“Pray, make no mistake about me. I object to such vulgar classification -as you are disposed to make,” cried Rudolph, sharply. - -“I’ll be as wide and as refined as you like--platonic, artistic, -spiritual--whichever suits you best. But we may not doubt the -admiration, my friend.” - -“To prevent gross misinterpretation, I will give you the situation. -I hold myself willingly and proudly enslaved to such genius as hers. -I would gladly sit in silence all my life if my ear might be filled -with music such as hers. For the sake of that, I am ready to offer my -friendship, and forget the rest.” - -Rudolph stood back a little with a listening rapt expression, and -Agiropoulos glanced contemptuously down at Photini. Agiropoulos was -constitutionally incapable of understanding disinterested admiration. -His sentiments were coarse and definite, and to him were unknown the -conditions of strife, probation, unrewarded and unexacting love, -self-distrust and tremulous aspiration and fear; above all, was he -free from a young man’s humble reverence of womanhood, which, in the -abstract, was to him something so greatly inferior to himself as to -be below consideration. Cheerful it must be to escape the hesitations -and exquisitely painful flutterings between doubt and hope, and the -thousand and one causes of clouded bliss, to the more fastidious and -ideal Northern nature. He looked forward to a suitable marriage when -his relations with Photini should come to an end, but was not concerned -with the question of choice. Girls are plentiful enough, and handsome -or ugly, they come to the same thing in the long run: mothers of -children of whose looks their husbands are unconscious. - -In response to the loud applause which greeted her last chord, -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber rose slowly, bent her head as low as her -knees, the mossy black curls rolling over her forehead like a veil, and -her hands hanging straight down beside her. No one present had ever -seen a lady bow in this masculine fashion, and following the breathless -magnificence of her playing it so awed her spectators that some moments -of dead silence passed before they were able to break into their -many-tongued speech. - -“Let me have some cognac, if you please,” she said, curtly, turning to -her delighted hostess. - -What will not the mistress of a salon endure if she may furnish her -guests with a thoroughly new sensation! And certainly Mademoiselle was -a very novel sensation. - -The cognac was promptly administered to the artist, and the people -began to move about and express their opinions. - -“That girl is tremendously admired here,” said Agiropoulos to Rudolph, -drawing his attention to a noticeable group of young ladies. “Her name -is Mademoiselle Eméraude Veritassi. She was not christened Eméraude, -I may mention, but we are so very Parisian at Athens that we insist -on translating everything, even our own names, into French. The girl -beside her is _Miss Mary_ Perpignani, and her brother _Mr. John_ -Perpignani, though neither of them knows a word of English. It is -_chic_ with us. I am Tonton. I can’t exactly say what language it may -be, but it isn’t Greek, and that you see is the main thing. My sister -Persephone calls herself Proserpine.” - -“What bad taste! Persephone is surely a beautiful name.” - -“Ah, but it is Greek--not fashionable, not _chic_. And if we have no -_chic_, my friend, we have no _raison d’être_.” - -“Who is that going to play now?” asked Rudolph. - -“Good heavens! it’s Melpomene--and after the Natzelhuber!” - -No wonder there was much admiration expressed at the nerve of the -lady who bravely undertook to play such a masterpiece as Chopin’s -“Barcarolle” in the presence of a master not given to handle offenders -gently. But everyone was disposed to receive the amiable imperfection -of an amateur with indulgence, while it was impossible to conjecture -the feelings of the short-haired woman who was quietly sipping her -second glass of cognac on an ottoman and listening with a fixed neutral -stare in her yellow eyes. When the piece was over, the artist rose, and -said with awful measured politeness: - -“Does Madame imagine that she has played Chopin’s ‘Barcarolle?’ -Doubtless Madame has mistaken the name. I will play the ‘Barcarolle’ -now.” - -It is easy to understand the feelings with which Madame retired, and -the feelings aroused in the breast of Madame’s irate husband, who -glared vengeance from the other end of the room; and for one moment -every one recognised that a _star_ is not the most agreeable ornament -of society, but this idea was soon swept away upon magic sound. -Could there be anything dreamed of on earth like the beauty of the -“Barcarolle” so played? Enthusiasm reached the white-heat of passion. -Ladies tore the flowers from their bosoms, men from their button-holes -and flung them at her; faces went white and red, and eyes filled with -tears. And there stood Agiropoulos smiling blandly and taking half the -triumph as his own, while Rudolph had gone back to his recess and was -sobbing unrestrainedly in sheer ecstasy. - -When the first wave of emotion had subsided, and the artist had bowed -her acknowledgment in the same curious way, too contemptuous even to -shake the flowers off her person, her host stepped forward to offer her -his arm and lead her towards the buffet in another room. Somebody else -stepped forward with gracious intent, a young self-sufficient viscount, -the nephew of the distinguished French minister. He bowed low, and -acquainted her with the agreeable fact that he had never heard anything -like her playing of the “Barcarolle,” and his regret that Chopin -himself could not hear it. Mademoiselle looked at him meditatively for -some trying seconds, then said calmly: - -“Do you really believe, sir, that I require your approval? Be so good, -sir, as to confine your observations on music to your equals.” - -“Truly a remarkable and slightly disconcerting person,” said the -English Cabinet Minister, arranging his eyeglass the better to observe -her. “Extraordinary, egad! I suppose artists are bound to be erratic. -But don’t you think they could play just as well with hair like -everybody else, and decent manners?” - -His companion was of opinion they could, and suggested that the artist -in question would create a lively sensation in a London drawing-room. - -“By Jove, yes. Suppose we strike a bargain with her, and carry her back -with us. We might label her--‘authentic specimen of a Greek barbarian, -picked up near the Acropolis; dangerous.’” - -All the guests now struggled forward in search of refreshments. But -Rudolph strolled about waiting for an opportunity to see Photini -alone. His gratitude and admiration were at that exalted pitch when -an outpouring is imperative. He knew nothing of the vile report that -had been circulated concerning his own relations with her, and sought -her with the damning candour of complete innocence. He found her, and -the discovery sent a shock of horror through him that almost stopped -the beating of his heart. She was in the centre of a noisy laughing -group of men, smoking a cigarette and holding an empty liqueur glass -in her hand into which the Baron von Hohenfels was pouring some -brandy, laughing boisterously and joking hideously. Every nerve within -him thrilled in an agony of shame. This the glorious interpreter of -heavenly sound! This the artist he so passionately desired to reverence -as a woman, while worshipping her genius! He was half prompted to -go away in silence, when his eyes caught the sarcastic triumph of -Agiropoulos’ smile. With a mighty effort he gulped down the bitterness -of disappointment and shocked surprise, and bravely went forward. - -“I have been looking for you, Mademoiselle,” he said coldly. “I wanted -so much to thank you for the delight you have given me to-night--this -addition to past delight,” he added, holding out his hand. - -“Ah! my little Austrian page!” Photini cried, laughing into his -solemn grieved face. “I got your card to-day. You must come and see -me again. The ‘Mélodiés Hongroises’ you know. I’ve promised you that. -A pretty fellow is your nephew, Baron, and quite as charming as he is -pretty. But too grave, too grave, and too--_sans reproche_,” she added -cynically. - -All the men looked at Rudolph curiously, and laughed. The boy flushed -scarlet, bowed and walked away. The rooms were rapidly thinning, and -recognising him as a member of the Hohenfels family, several guests -stopped to shake hands with him as they passed him. He received their -advances mechanically, hardly heard a word addressed to him, and was -still in a dream when his aunt and her husband returned to join him in -the empty chambers. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE BARON VON HOHENFELS EXPRESSES AN OPINION. - - -That night Rudolph did not go to bed. He spent some hours walking up -and down his room in a nervous agitation he could by no means account -for. It seemed to him that he had been dropped into a disagreeably -topsy-turvy world, and the thought made him wretched and unhappy: -dissatisfied and perplexed by his own state, fierce in a vague kind -of resentment against Agiropoulos, and filled with an immeasurable -grief for Photini. With such soul in her fingers she appeared to him -through an ugly cloud like a battered and draggled angel, and he sat -disconsolately gazing at the blue and golden flames from the beautiful -star-fire above, and asked himself how had it happened, and was there -for her henceforth no struggling back into the paths of sweet womanhood -from which she had strangely and openly strayed? - -Yet why should he grieve so passionately for Photini? No affair of -his if she courted slander and irreverent familiarity; nor yet if she -indulged in inadmissible tastes in public, and wounded and insulted -all who came near her. His own birth and its responsibilities surely -excluded him from such preoccupations, and his natural fastidiousness -made relations, however slight and flexible, with a woman like -Photini impossible. This he knew well, and despite the knowledge -felt miserably sad and unquiet. He wanted so much that she should not -degrade his high ideal of the artist who has received nature’s patent -of nobility, and a lonely impressionable boy like Rudolph could not -afford to stand by tamely and watch the dethroning of his idol. For -Photini had been his idol long before they had met. Her name had been -borne into his retreat from many quarters, and no one had hinted to -him her unlovableness--her disreputableness. Liszt had only spoken to -him of her genius with enthusiasm. Had his small circle deliberately -conspired to keep him in ignorance of this cruel reality, while he -was wandering and losing himself in a forest of delicate and poetic -illusions?--building hope upon hope of an unanalysable nature until his -whole happiness grew to bind itself round the thought of this unknown -woman crowned by art with a glory greater than her womanhood? Photini -Natzelhuber! His mother had often told him of the time she first came -to Vienna, a slip of a girl, with a curly boyish head and the strangest -topaz eyes. Mossy dark hair and topaz eyes with divine fingers--what -more did it require to set aflame a dreamy imaginative lad? And when -strangers visited the Castle at Rapolden Kirchen and spoke of her, -he never seemed to understand that years had flown and left her less -girlish, but pictured her like Art, like a goddess ever young. And when -he read of knightly reverence and allegiance, he told himself that one -day he should go abroad and seek Photini. He dreamed of no conditions -or reward, not of marriage or of love in the ordinary sense. To wear -her colours, serve her in true devotion, honour her above all women, -and humbly sue the privilege to obey her commands and caprices with -some considerable recreative pauses for music--this was Rudolph’s -innocent dream. Remember he was brought up by a high-bred mother, all -grace and gentle benignity, a woman who wore her widowhood like a -sovereign lady to whom man’s homage was a sweet claim. And her pretty -and impracticable theories but helped to feed the fires of a fatally -romantic temperament, while his complete and unboylike isolation left -him an easy prey to the riotous play of fancy. Then is it any wonder -that reality at the outset should both crush and bewilder him? - -He opened the window, and leant far out with his head against his hand, -that the cold night air might blow upon him. Through the confusion of -his mind he could gather no dim or possible conclusion upon which to -shape immediate action. He dreaded meeting Photini again, for he felt -he could never forgive her for the havoc she had made of all his bright -hopes. Then softly through the silence of the night waved in echoing -dimness the lovely strains of the “Barcarolle,” with its ever recurrent -note of passionate melancholy, its very voluptousness of exquisite pain -and the musical rhythm of the oars breaking through the water murmur. -The memoried sounds flushed his cheek with trembling delight, and he -rushed to his violin and tried to pick out the dominant melody. But who -could ever hope to play it as she did? And, happily, he became mindful -of the possible objections of others to this faint nocturnal music, and -generously put up his instrument. - -“Ah!” he sighed, “if Photini be hardly a woman, what an artist, good -heavens!” Must much not be forgiven undeniable genius? And was all -the ideal love irrevocably vanished? If only he could know. For this -uncertainty disturbed him and made him unhappy, and unhappiness is not -exactly the condition that enables a young man to see clearly into his -own mind or into anybody else’s. He would try to sleep, and then this -tempest of emotion and harassing conflict would blow over and leave his -eyes clearer to see what he ought to do and leave undone. - -But Rudolph did not sleep, and a sleepless night, we know, works -disastrously upon the nerves and looks. When he appeared downstairs his -uncle glanced up casually from his papers, and, stirring his chocolate, -said in surprise: - -“Why, whatever is the matter with you, Rudolph? This is too absurd. A -girl wouldn’t look so battered after a first ball.” - -“Well, I am battered, I suppose. I’ve passed a bad night and I am not -used to it,” said Rudolph listlessly. - -“A bad night! a fellow of your age! Is it possible? Fact is, my dear -boy, your mother has ruined you. Nothing worse than to pamper and -coddle up lads as if they were girls. Your mother had no business to -keep you immured in that ghostly old place with no hardier society than -her own.” - -“I wish she were there still and I with her,” said poor Rudolph, with a -little break in his voice and a faint clouding of his blue eyes. - -“Of course, of course,” hastily cried the volatile baron, whom all -evidence of emotion struck chill. “The wish does you and her credit. -But all the same, it is not exactly fit training for a boy. Makes him -whimsical and sensitive and shy--a lively prey for all adventurers -male and female, especially female. Fact is, it is most enervating and -absurd. You ought to have seen something of society long ago, Rudolph; -you ought indeed. Men and manners--you know your classics?” - -“That is just my difficulty. Men and manners--to find them -disappointing and strange. My brief glimpse of them has both sickened -and saddened me.” - -“Nonsense! You must face life like a man; not dream it away like a puny -sentimental girl. You want backbone and nerve, Rudolph, you do indeed. -Men are not saints nor women angels. Well, what of that? They are not -expected to be so until they get into the next world, which time, -as far as I am concerned, I trust will be postponed to the furthest -limits. Then the ladies find their wings and the men get canonised, -that is, if they haven’t taken snuff. I believe a very estimable saint -was once refused canonisation because he took snuff; can’t swear to it, -however. For the rest, my boy, adopt the aphorism of the wise German, -who was good enough to discover that everything is arranged for the -best in this best of all possible worlds.” - -“You can take things lightly, uncle, but I cannot.” - -“Of course not,” rejoined the baron, lighting a cigar. “Whoever heard -of a young man taking anything lightly except his debts?” - -“I do not ask that men should be saints nor women angels.” - -“It is considerate of you to be so unexacting. Pass the saintship of -your own sex, young men have the extremely awkward habit of quarrelling -with women as soon as they discover they are not angels.” - -“But I do seek for evidences of gentlemanly feeling, for decent -manners and chivalrous speech,” Rudolph went on, ignoring the Baron’s -interruptions. - -“Now you are hardly so unexacting. This strikes me as demanding -something more than sanctity, for it is quite possible that a saint may -be an ill-mannered cad,” said the baron gravely. - -“I hope, sir, that you will not be offended with me if I express a wish -to return to Austria,” said Rudolph, after a pause, nervously devoted -to industrious crumbling. - -“Indeed, Rudolph,” cried the baron, facing him with a disconcerting -steadiness of gaze, “I am very seriously offended to hear you express -such a wish. Your aunt and I have cherished the hope that you would -find your stay with us pleasant enough to make your visit a prolonged -one. What has upset you? If there is anything we can do to make you -comfortable, I beg you will state your wishes and count them fulfilled.” - -“Nothing, nothing indeed, I assure you. You and my dear aunt are -kindness itself, and I am most truly grateful. But I am not happy, -uncle. Do not blame me if I seem capricious.” - -“Seem! Well, and are you not?” - -“I cannot help it if I am perplexed and grieved. I think I should -feel less troubled in Rapolden Kirchen, that is all,” Rudolph slowly -explained, bending his head with apparent anxiety over the little heap -of crumbs he was making with his knife. - -His uncle watching him narrowly saw the sensitive lips tremble under -the soft moustache. - -“Come, unveil the mystery, Rudolph,” he said with a quiet smile. “Who -is the woman? For, Gad, it looks deucedly like a first prick of love. -Nothing else smarts so keenly at your age.” - -Rudolph shrank visibly from the coarse frank glance of worldly eyes -directed upon a wound so intangible, so especially delicate, and -yet open to misconstruction. To grieve about a woman argues the -existence of the commoner sentiment, and he loathed the thought of -his fine instinct being so misinterpreted. But could a bland and -heavy ambassador, who smokes the best cigars and lounges on the -softest cushions in irreproachable attire, skilful in gastronomy and -a connoisseur in feminine points, be possibly expected to seize and -rightly interpret the daintier emotions and pangs of a more exquisite -and spiritual organism? - -“There is nothing of that matter in my trouble, but I believe I am -unfitted for society. I don’t like it; much that others, possibly wiser -and better than I, hardly note offends me.” - -“You find the charming illusions nurtured in the seclusion of Rapolden -Kirchen rudely dispelled,” suggested the baron, looking what he felt, a -trifle bored by the lad’s heavy earnestness, but admirably sustained by -the comfort of good tobacco. “That happens to every one, though I have -no doubt it would afford you immeasurable satisfaction to look upon -your case as exceptional. All this is quite correct, since it is so, -and if this very interesting and pleasant world realised the fastidious -ideal of youth, my dear fellow, it would not be a fit place for any -sensible man to live in. Be reasonable, Rudolph. Give poor society -another chance before you decide to abandon it to inevitable perdition. -There will be plenty of balls presently. Stay and see if you cannot -reconcile your flighty imagination to a waltz or two with some pretty -Athenians. You may not credit it, but there are two very pretty girls -here.” - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -FAREWELL TO YOU!--TO YOU GOOD CHEER! - - -Given a young man of average resolution in force against an -acknowledged and violently self-disapproved inclination, seated in a -pleasant morning-room, with clear broad rays of December sunshine, -as it knows how to shine in winter in Greece, pouring in through the -lattice-work of the windows, every leaf in the garden singing and -proclaiming that out-of-doors there is gladness of sight as well as -gladness of sound, to soothe the mind of restless and melancholy youth. -It will go hard with that young man to resist the temptation to get -up, shake out the draggled plumes of thought, and canter away into the -country--or why own an uncle who has a horse or two to be had for the -asking? One cannot lock oneself away in a dismal chamber merely as -a correction against one’s own irregular impulses. Besides, was not -his resolution there to act as constable, and move them on if unruly -subjects showed any tendency to loiter on the way? So Rudolph made -himself look very spruce in a dark green riding coat he had bought in -Vienna, and much more suited to the forest depths of Rapolden Kirchen -than the high-road of a modern town, put on a pair of brown gauntlet -gloves, also scenting too suspiciously of the forest, with long black -boots, and he only wanted a forester’s plumed hat to complete the -picture. But he looked exceedingly handsome, and as, abroad, all -eccentricities of costume are credited to the English, he was taken as -a fair young milord as he cantered briskly along the Partissia Road. -Somebody met him and remarked afterwards to the Baron von Hohenfels -that “he had had the pleasure of seeing his nephew on horseback got up -like Gessler without the hat.” - -On the youth rode, quite pleased with his green coat and his fine -boots, flicking away an occasional fly from the ear of his bay with a -dainty riding whip, and inhaling delightedly the soft odours of the -winter landscape. He would have liked to whistle or sing. - -“Decidedly, Athens is a charming place,” he thought to himself. “All -my life till now I have been frozen at this time of the year, and -here the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the sea is smiling -out there its very bluest smile, and it would be impossible to paint -the lovely colours of the landscape. Hills everywhere, with a long -silver plain--the plain of Attica! I wonder where this road leads to? -Somewhere out into the country, but it does not matter. I’ll ride to -the end of it, and then I’ll ride back.” - -It was an enchanting ride. He saw a little beer garden, and stopped to -see if the beer of Athens were as refreshing as its air. Well, no; he -thought on the whole that he had tasted better beer in Vienna, but the -place was quaint, and, who knows? perhaps a centre of classic memories. -He would look into Baedeker on his return. Certainly the waiters -left much to be desired in manner, in attendance, and in personal -appearance. Then he thought of riding back, paid his score, leaving -what would have been considered a satisfactory tip for any one but a -proverbially prodigal milord,--that article, with a proper respect for -itself, not being thought guilty of a knowledge of coppers,--mounted -his horse, and turned its head towards Athens. - -His pace this time was not so brisk, nor did his face or the atmosphere -seem quite so happy. A vague consciousness of what was awaiting him was -slowly beginning to make itself felt through the recent satisfaction -of moral superiority, and that consciousness weighted his horse’s -step, as it weighted his own boy’s heart. And yet it was fate that was -guiding him, and not his own will. Of course not. When does the will -ever guide the unwilling, and where would any of us be in moments of -complicated decision, if it were not for that convenient scapegoat and -disentangler--Fate? - -The museums afforded an excuse for putting off the evil moment, and a -lad was found to hold the bay while Rudolph went inside to examine the -curiosities. He did all that was to be done; stood gravely before Greek -vase after Greek vase, each one the exact counterpart of the other, -and while running the silver handle of his riding-whip along his lips, -told himself that it was really curious that so many intelligent people -should be found ready to go into ecstasies over this sort of thing, -and prefer to look at a cracked red vase with mad figures on it, to -a living pretty face, or a pine-fringed mountain, or the rain-clouds -scattered across the blue heavens. And then he gazed at the coins; -gazed at broken statues, and at whatever wearied and polite attendants -were willing to show him. - -“Well, I am not archæological, that is certain,” he thought, mounting -his bay with an open alacrity that might be described as a silent -“Hurrah!” and flew--not to the Austrian Embassy, but to Academy Street. - -When he asked Polyxena in his blandest tones if her mistress was -visible, that gracious minister unto art nodded, and pointed with her -thumb over her shoulder: - -“Go up there, you will find her about.” - -“The Natzelhuber has picked up a perfect counterpart of herself,” -Agiropoulos had remarked, which struck Rudolph as unpleasantly accurate. - -When Rudolph, after a timid knock, opened the door, he found the -pianiste lying on a worn black sofa, smoking a cigarette and reading a -French novel, with three cats about her, one comfortably seated at her -head, and one across her feet. On the hearthrug there were two dogs -feigning to be asleep, in order the more conveniently to pry into the -affairs of man, and ridicule together the secrets they had discerned -between two blinks and a snap at a fly. The room was poorly furnished -and disorderly. A piano which had seen battle and better days, a faded -carpet; music on the floor, music on tables, music on chairs. Over -the mantelpiece a large portrait of Liszt, under it Rubinstein, above -Beethoven, and on either side Chopin and George Sand. - -In this little group of portraits consisted the sole decoration of the -bare white walls, and a table in a corner held all that its owner had -amassed of precious things in her public career: her medals gained -at the Conservatoire, the few gifts of gold-studded objects she had -condescended in her most amenable moods to accept from grand dukes -and duchesses, and other courtly and wealthy admirers. She looked at -Ehrenstein without getting up, and said: - -“What do you want?” - -“Nothing,” he retorted, sitting down uninvited, and staring at her a -moment in cold inquiry. - -She was not handsome, nay, she was ugly, and he was glad of it, being -still of the innocent belief that the face is the clear index of the -soul, and that a fair exterior cannot possibly cover a foul interior. -Then, too, the fact that she was unprepossessing made the course he was -contemplating so much the easier, since, however sincerely he might -regret the artist, he could not in conscience pretend it possible that -he should regret her face. - -“You are doing well, my young friend,” laughed the Natzelhuber, -“excellently well, ’pon my soul. Not so long ago a convent girl could -not beat you in humility, and to-day you’ve cheek enough to lend even -Agiropoulos a little.” - -“Oh!” said Rudolph, lifting his eyebrows, and then changing his tone, -suddenly, “but I did not mean to be rude.” - -“Then what the devil do you mean?” the artist cried, lighting another -cigarette, with almost maternal precautions against disturbing her -cats. “Is that the way to come into a woman’s room, making yourself at -home without being asked, and impertinently saying you want nothing?” - -“If it comes to that, I might ask, is it habitual for morning callers -to be received by their hostess lying on a sofa, nursing three cats, -smoking, and to be asked what they wanted?” - -“A very reasonable attitude if it suits me, and a very reasonable -question. But since you are so susceptible and cantankerous, I’ll do -you the grace to change both to suit you,” she said good-humoredly, -removing her cats and placing them back on the sofa when she stood up; -then seating herself in an arm-chair, she added: - -“Now, what have you come for?” - -“To see you,” he said, smiling in spite of himself. - -“Much obliged, I am sure. Well, look away, and in the meantime I’ll -finish this chapter of my book.” - -The method of being severe and renunciatory, with a suitable Byronic -fold of the lip and stern compression of the brows--a kind of “fare -thee well, and if forever” expression--with a woman like this! Fancy -such a reception at twenty-one--when a young man is oldest, gravest, -intensest, and slightly melodramatic--from the object of shattered -dreams, the creature of agitated and complex feelings, and the cause -of poignant humiliation and vexed wonder! Yet the Natzelhuber was -unconsciously working most effectually for the boy’s good, and every -stab was a definite step on the road to recovery, and to a full lifting -of the veil of his own signal folly. - -“What makes you look so unhappy, Ehrenstein?” she asked, after a -considerable pause. “Have you been playing?” - -“No, mademoiselle. I did not know that I looked unhappy,” Rudolph -answered, colouring slightly. - -“You do then. But there is no need to ask why you are unhappy. You wear -your nature in your face, and that proves to me that you will never be -happy--any more than my unlucky self.” - -“Why?” - -“Because you are too refined and too fastidious, and too everything -else that goes to the making of a first-class irrational humbug. A man -who wishes to make the best of life should be able to take a little -of its mud comfortably, whereas you are ready even to turn up your -aristocratic nose at a little elegant dust.” - -“And you, mademoiselle? Why are you not happy?--for I cannot regard -dust or mud as the impediment here,” said Rudolph sarcastically. - -“Oh, for just the contrary reason. I am too _gamine_! It comes to the -same thing, child. We are both mad, though reaching the condition by -diametrically opposed roads. My life is ending, and it is too late -now to change had I even the desire,--but yours is beginning. Get -rid of all that superfluous refinement, and tell yourself that there -are things more real and more absolutely necessary than sugar and -ice-cream.” - -“What you say is very true, and I will remember it. But have you no -words of equal wisdom for your own case--although they say that doctors -are always better able to treat cholera in an alien body than a fit of -indigestion in themselves.” - -“I could say much, but I could not be sure of finding an attentive -audience in myself. You see I am a poor devil. Not so long ago I -had the musical world at my feet--only two names above me, and the -second Rubinstein, not so far away. Like this we were crowned,” she -explained, making a dot on the cover of her book, and calling it Liszt, -with a second lower down, on the right hand side, which represented -Rubinstein, and the last, on the left, hardly more than a thought below -the second--“there! the Natzelhuber. And turn from my fame to reality. -An ugly old woman without a sou, alone, friendless, ill, the only -companions of my solitude these cats and dogs, and that,” she added, -pointing to a bottle of brandy. - -“Is that not a very bad companion in solitude?” asked Rudolph, pained. - -“Not so very bad when it keeps you from cutting your throat in a morbid -moment.” - -“Mademoiselle, command me--command all your true friends, for surely -it is impossible that genius such as yours has gathered no honest -friendship along its path, as well as empty honours. Whatever my -shortcomings may be in the way of entertaining, I will prove a better -counsellor than your present one,” he urged, forgetting all about -himself in his anxiety to save her from the approach of certain -degradation. - -She looked at him sharply, and then a curious softened light came into -the yellow eyes, making them once again beautiful and fascinating -with their old charm. She placed her two powerful little hands on his -shoulders, and seemed to gaze down into his very soul. - -“My dear boy, I believe you are sincere. You are as good as you look, -and that is saying much. A tired old woman thanks you with all her -heart, but it is too late. Some demon fixed himself in that old woman’s -head when she was born, and never could manage to find its way out ever -since.” - -Rudolph was on the point of protesting, when the door opened, and a -woman in black, followed by a young girl entered. The Natzelhuber -wheeled round brusquely, and demanded: - -“Who are you, madame? and what brings you here, pray?” - -The woman, who was stout and hot, stared anxiously, gasped, clutched -in vain at her scattered ideas, and murmured something relative to the -great honour the illustrious Mademoiselle Natzelhuber had done her in -consenting to teach her daughter Andromache, the interview having been -arranged for to-day. - -“All very well. But that does not explain how you came to enter my room -unannounced,” cried the pianiste. - -“Your servant sent us up, madame.” - -“Polyxena!” roared the Natzelhuber, holding the door open. - -Rudolph, ready to sink with shame at the unpleasantness of his -position, and eager to beat a hasty retreat, happened to look at the -girl who was staring from the stormy musician to him with large dark -blue eyes, dark fringed, and full of beseeching anxiety and fright. She -was a very pretty girl of somewhat exotic type: olive tints, blue-black -hair, with a thin, sedately arranged row of curls upon the forehead. -A face of meagre intelligence, without a shade of those subtle and -tremulous surprises, that delicate eloquence of opening sensibilities -and wonder, that make up so much of girlish beauty in northern races. -But Andromache was very touching in that moment of perplexity and -humiliation, and having looked at her once, Rudolph felt constrained to -look again--which he did willingly enough, though he blushed scarlet at -his own audacity. - -“Polyxena, who the devil gave you leave to send me strangers when I am -engaged?” - -“How was I to know you were engaged? Haven’t I my work to do without -looking after your danglers? Do you think I’m going to walk up here -every time your bell rings to find out what I am to say? Ah, then, -and upon my word, you’d have first to go into treaty with my Maker to -fashion me another pair of legs,” retorted Polyxena, turning on her -heel. - -“That is the way she always answers me,” said the Natzelhuber, smiling. -“But I am fond of servants. They are the only part of humanity that has -retained a bit of originality or naturalness. When she is in a good -humour that girl delights me with the extraordinary things she says,” -she remarked to Rudolph. “So, madame, this is the young woman you want -me to turn into an artiste,” she exclaimed, menacingly, standing before -the trembling Andromache with her hands joined behind her. - -After a long scrutiny, she thrust up her chin, and muttered: - -“Pouf! she doesn’t look very bright.” - -“Everybody says she is very clever, mademoiselle,” the girl’s mother -ventured to plead humbly, “and she plays really well.” - -“Who is ‘everybody’? half a dozen brutes of Athenians who couldn’t tell -you the difference between C major and F sharp. If you have come here -to cite me the opinion of that distinguished and discriminating critic, -Everybody, madame, instead of waiting to hear mine, you and your -daughter may go about your business, and see what your Everybody will -do for you.” - -Rudolph made a movement towards the door, hoping to escape unnoticed, -but the Natzelhuber, having had enough of her last visitors, detained -him with an invitation to smoke a cigarette, and drink a glass of -brandy. - -“Wouldn’t you like me to play you something?” - -“Not to-day, thanks. Another time. It’s just breakfast time,” he said -hurriedly. - -She turned her back on him without another word, and opening the piano, -pointed to Andromache to sit down before it. The girl’s hands shook as -she removed her gloves, and Rudolph, going downstairs, could hear how -unsteady and timid were the first notes that she played. - -“Weber’s ‘Invitation à la Danse.’ She will surely fly into another rage -when she hears that,” he thought. “But I do wish she would be kind and -encouraging to the poor girl. Such pretty eyes as she has! I have never -seen prettier. Just like the March violets in Rapoldenkirchen that I -used to gather for my mother.” - -In the meantime the frightened owner of these eyes like the March -violets of Rapoldenkirchen was passing through the worst moment of her -existence. Two bars of the “Invitation” served to bring down the wrath -of artistic majesty on her head, and very nearly on her hands. - -“What do you call that?” - -“Weber’s ‘Invitation,’” died away in the girl’s throat. - -“Weber’s ‘Rubbish,’ you idiot! It is as little like the ‘Invitation’ as -the music of my cats is like the ‘Funeral March.’ But you have a good -touch. Something may be made of you when you have learnt your scales, -and know how to sit before a piano. Seat low, thumb covered, body -tranquil. Are you prepared to regard yourself as a beginner, with less -knowledge than a stammering infant--or do you still cherish the opinion -of ‘Everybody’ that you are very clever?” - -“I know very well that I am quite ignorant, and it is because I want to -learn that I have come to you,” Andromache said, with a simple dignity -that mollified the artist. - -“Well, I see you are not a fool like your respectable mother,” she -said. “Now go home and practice as many scales as you can for three or -four or even more hours a day, and come to me at the end of a week. -Hard work and slow results, remember.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -AN ATHENIAN HOUSEHOLD. - - -Among the many curious customs of the modern Athenians--at least those -unprovided with permanent tents--is their habit of changing residence -every first of September. When they go into each new house, they have -at last found their earthly paradise, which they at once begin to -maltreat in every possible way, until, by summer-time there is hardly -a clean spot left on any of the walls, a door left with a handle, a -cupboard with a lock, or a window with a fastening entire in its panes. -Then the earthly paradise, is described in terms as exaggeratedly -expressive of the reverse of comfort; the family look around for the -next September move, and a new home or flat is found with the same fate -awaiting it. The only rational way of accounting for this startling -custom, which would greatly disturb any reasonable person compelled to -follow it, is by supposing that the natives find something exciting and -morally or mentally beneficial in their annual migrations. - -In compliance with the law, Andromache’s mother, the previous -September, had moved from a flat on the second floor in Solon Stettore, -a ground floor flat with plenty of underground accommodation, in one -of the many yet unnamed streets that break from the foot of Lycabettus -like concentric rays to drop into the straight line of Solon Street, -and proceed on a wider and recognised course down among the larger -thoroughfares. These baby passages are rarely traversed by any but -those who enjoy the qualified happiness of living in them. There is -always a river of flowing water edging their entrance like a barrier, -which a lady with dainty boots would doubtless view with disapprobation -if she were asked to ford it upon an afternoon call. Children by the -hundred play about these streets--variously coloured children, ragged, -ugly, showing every condition but that of cleanliness and beauty, with -little twisted mouths and sharp black eyes that always seem to be -measuring in the spectator a possible foe; with coarse matted hair, -or shaven heads looking like nothing more than the skin of a mouse -worn as a skull cap, or dirty straw, bleached nearly white, hanging -about them in unapproachable wisps and understood to be fair hair. As -well as the householders, the infants, and running water, the streets -offer, as further attraction, the cries of the itinerant merchants, -who draw their carts up the dusty, unpaved little hills, and yell -out the contents of their store in a way only to be heard in burning -cities, where yelling, public and domestic, becomes an art, cultivated -with zeal, and heard with joy--by all but the nervous traveller. All -day long these vendors come and go, and the aforementioned happy -householders need only appear on their thresholds to buy stuffs, soap, -candles, sponges, carpets, etc. - -In the sweet spot Kyria Karapolos had pitched her tent with her -family, consisting of two sons, the eldest a dashing captain of the -Artillery, known in town as Captain Miltiades, understood to have no -relations, and to sleep on horseback, dine on gallantry and the recital -of his own prowess, and enjoy relaxation from equine exercise in the -ball-room. The second son, Themistocles, a dapper little fellow, had a -position in the Corinthian Bank, not very remunerative, but enabling -him to dress with what he considered Parisian taste, and walk Stadion -Street with two or three other fashionable youths, all equally gloved, -caned--and killing. He had a violin too, and disliking his family, -when constrained to remain at home, spent the time in his own room, -which looked out upon the sloping gardens of the French School, and -tortured the silence by irritating this poor instrument, deluded into -a fond belief that he was playing Gounod’s “Ave Maria” and Schubert’s -“Serenade.” - -He cherished a hopeless passion for a young lady in the next street -who had no fortune; neither had he, nor, what is worse in an aspiring -husband, any prospect of making one. - -A girl came next, Julia, of abnormal plainness of feature, considerably -heightened by a pimpled, sallow complexion and a furtive, untrustworthy -expression. Unlike the rest of her family, she had no special -qualification, but while the others enjoyed every kind of discomfort, -her fortune was pleasantly counted into the Corinthian Bank, to be -taken out the day a husband should present himself for her and for it, -especially for it. In this land of dowered maidens young gentlemen of -expensive tastes and empty purses find it feasible and honourable -to incur debts on the understanding that they will be paid out of -somebody’s dowry by and by. Personal looks or qualities are secondary -questions, so the absence of attractions in Julia did not weigh in the -eyes of her brother and mother in their anxiety to marry her. - -The youngest was Andromache, as pretty as Julia was plain, resembling -her brother, the redoubtable Captain Miltiades; a sweet girl, too, -if suggestive of the unvarying sweetness which is another word for -feebleness of character--fond of music, and showing some ability in -that direction, never taking part in the family quarrels which were -always raging at the table and elsewhere between the rest. But she had -the tastes of the woman of warm latitudes. In the house she was rarely -fit to be seen,--and she had a passion for powder, unguents and strong -perfumes. She was a tolerably efficient housekeeper, and generally -spent her mornings in the kitchen, superintending and helping Maria, -the maid of all work, who had enough in all conscience to do to keep -Captain Miltiades in clean shirts. - -Captain Miltiades was not only the hero of his domestic circle, but -the hero of all Greece--or so he believed, which comes to the same -thing; the boldest soldier, the mightiest captain, the best horseman -and dancer, and, crown in romantic imaginations, the most impecunious -ornament of Athenian society. His fierce and military moustache and -bronzed cheek awed beholders, and his noble brow merging into a bald -crown gently fringed with short black hair, which made a thin line -above his black military coat and crimson velvet collar, seemed to hold -the concentrated wisdom of ages. But gallant and youthful was the -spirit of Captain Miltiades--amatory, too, as behoves a son of Mars. -“One may be bald and not old for that,” said his flashing dark-blue eye -whenever a maiden’s thoughtful glance rested on the discrowned region. -His French left much to be desired, and of other European languages -he knew nothing. But then scientific was his knowledge of the gay -cotillon, entrancing his movement in the waltz and mazurka; at least -the young ladies of Athens thought so. However, be it known to all who -care to learn noteworthy facts, Captain Miltiades was an authority on -these important subjects; a kind of dancing Master of Ceremonies at -the Palace, where he danced with royal partners and was amazingly in -demand. But, sad to relate, nobody dreamed of falling in love with him, -in spite of his military prowess and carpet-pirouetting. The ladies -regarded him as a kind of amiable harlequin, and his presence and -warm declarations only excited a smile on the lips of the weakest. Of -course he sighed and dangled after every _dot_, but sighed in vain, for -neither his fierce moustache nor his dark blue eyes have brought him -somebody’s one figure and countless noughts of francs. - -It was twelve o’clock, and Captain Miltiades might be heard galloping -up the unpaved street, looking as if nothing short of a miracle could -bring horse or rider to stop before they reached the overhanging point -of Lycabettus. The miracle was accomplished without flinging the -gallant Captain headforemost into the dust or into the nearest flowing -stream, and the Captain’s military servant, Theodore, emerged from -the side entrance to carry off the panting war-horse, and refresh -its foaming flanks with the stable brush, while the warrior, with -stern brow and dissatisfied lips under the nodding red plumes of his -cap--this modern Achilles always appeared in a white heat of suppressed -anger in the domestic circle--rapped at the glass door which Julia -opened. - -“Where is Maria?” asked Captain Miltiades. - -“In the kitchen, of course, cooking the breakfast.” - -“Maria! Maria!” - -“Yes, sir,” cried the unfortunate servant, rushing from the steaming -_pilaf_ she was preparing, and showing a spacious bosom hardly -restrained within the compass of the strained and long since colourless -cloth that untidily covered it, and a ragged skirt, and fuzzy black -hair that she found as much difficulty in keeping out of the soup as -out of her own coal-black eyes--only far greater effort was made to -accomplish the latter feat. - -“Maria, the balls are commencing, and I shall be going out regularly; -you must have two clean shirts for me every day. Do you hear?” - -“And how on earth do you think, Captain, I am to get through my work? -Two shirts a day indeed! And the same for Mr. Themistocles, I suppose. -Four bedrooms to see to, cooking, washing for five persons: and one -poor girl to do it all for twenty-five francs a month. You may look for -another servant.” - -“Get away, or I’ll wring your ear, Maria. You have Theodore to help you -in the kitchen, and you know that both my mother and Andromache help -you in the housework.” - -“Wonderful, indeed! It only wants every one in the house to sit down -and do nothing, and the young ladies to ask me to starch them two white -petticoats apiece every day. Ah, animals, pigs, the whole of you,” she -added as she retired to the kitchen, and the gallant Captain to his -chamber. - -Another masculine entrance, and this time the thin piping voice of -little Themistocles was heard, calling on the unhappy maid of all work. - -“What does this fool want now?” roared the infuriated Maria, appearing -in the corridor with a large spoon which she brandished menacingly. - -“I am going out this evening, Maria, and I want a second clean shirt,” -said Themistocles, thrusting his head out of his room. - -“A second clean shirt! Oh, of course. What else? Don’t you think, sir, -you might find something more for me to do? I have so very little to do -that it would really be a kindness to keep an idle girl in work. Clean -shirts for Miltiades, clean shirts for Themistocles. ’Pon my word, it -is poor Maria herself who wants clean shirts--and she has not even time -to wash her face!” - -“Really, it is absurd the trouble you men give in a house,” cried Julia -over her embroidery in the hall. “You seem to think there are no limits -to what a servant is to be asked to do.” - -“Hold your tongue, Julia, and speak more respectfully of your -brothers,” retorted little Themistocles. - -“What do you mean by quarrelling with your sister, you -whipper-snapper?” cried Miltiades, combing his moustache, as he came -out of his room to join in the fray. “Another impertinent word to -Julia, and it would not take much to make me kick you out into the -street.” - -One word from the head of the house, as Captain Miltiades was called, -full twenty years his senior, was enough to silence Themistocles, who -retired into his room, and proceeded to make a careful study of the -libretto of “La Princesse des Canaries.” - -The third tap that morning at the glass door of the street, announcing -the return of Andromache and her mother, was the cheerful herald of -breakfast. Everybody was seated at table, wearing a more or less -bellicose air, while Theodore, looking as correct and rigid as an -ill-fitting military undress would permit, served out the _pilaf_ when -Andromache and Kyria Karapolos entered the dining-room. - -Andromache took her seat in silence beside Julia, and slowly unfolded -her napkin with an absent air, and her mother at the head of the table -began to puff and pant and violently fan herself. - -“Pooh! pooh! pooh! what a woman! I thought she would eat poor -Andromache.” - -“The music-woman,” remarked Captain Miltiades, indistinctly, through a -mouthful of _pilaf_. - -“A savage, Miltiades. She has a servant just like herself, who received -us as if we were beggars, and told us to go upstairs and look for the -Natzelhuber ourselves. And when we went up, there was a nice-looking -young gentleman with her, a foreigner, fair, I should say an Englishman -or a Russian--what country do you think he comes from, Andromache?” - -“Who, mamma?” asked Andromache, coming down from the clouds. - -“That fair young man we saw at Natzelhuber’s.” - -“I don’t know, I did not pay much attention to him,” Andromache -replied; and turned her eyes to the dish of roast meat Theodore was -placing on the table. - -“Well, this young man, as I said, was with her, and when we entered the -room, I assure you she all but ordered us out again.” - -“And why did you not go away?” demanded the Captain, hotly. “You are -always getting yourself insulted for want of proper spirit.” - -“You are just like your father, ever ready to fly into a rage for -nothing,” protested Kyria Karapolos, sulkily. “If one followed your -advice, there would be nothing but quarrelling in the world. By acting -civilly I have been able to beat down the Natzelhuber’s terms very much -below my expectations. When I asked her what she charged a lesson, I -nearly fainted at her answer. Thirty francs! However, when I expressed -our position, and how absolutely impossible it would be for us to -pay more than ten, she consented to receive Andromache as a pupil on -those terms. But whenever I spoke she snubbed me in the most violent -manner,--called me an old fool.” - -“Perhaps you gave her cause,” sneered Themistocles, who felt bitter -towards his mother, regarding her as his natural enemy since she -had warned the mother of the young lady in the next street of his -pennilessness, a warning which served to close the doors of that -paradise forever to him. - -“How dare you, sir, speak in such a way to your mother?” thundered the -irate Captain, always ready to pounce on the small bank-clerk, whom he -despised very cordially. “I told you to-day that it would not take much -to make me kick you into the street. Another offensive word, and see!” - -This ebullition quenched all further family expansion round the -breakfast-table. The girls hurried through the meal in silence, keeping -their eyes resolutely fixed on their plate. One man glowered, and the -other sulked in offended dignity, rising hurriedly the instant Theodore -appeared with two small cups of Turkish coffee for Kyria Karapolos -and the Captain. In another instant the street door was heard to bang -behind Themistocles, who, with his slim cane, his yellow gloves, and -minute waist, had gone down to indulge in a clerkly saunter as far as -Constitution Place, and unbosom his harassed and manly soul to two -other minute confidants previous to turning into the Corinthian Bank. - -After his coffee, the Captain went back to his barracks beyond the -Palace, and Andromache sat down to practice her scales on a cracked -piano in the little salon, with a view of the rugged steepness of -Lycabettus and the trellised gardens of the French School through -the long window. It was a pretty little room, with some excellent -specimens of Greek art and Byzantine embroidery, foolish Byzantine -saints, in gilt frames, with an artificial vacuity of gaze, the -artistic achievements of the rival Athenian photographers, Romaïdes and -Moraïtes, views of the Parthenon and the Temple of Jupiter, a bomb that -had exploded at the very feet of Captain Miltiades in the late outbreak -at Larissa, upon which memorable occasion he had gallantly mangled the -bodies of five thousand Turks and scattered their armies in shame. This -valuable piece of historic information I insert for the special benefit -of those who may presume to question the direct succession of this -mighty Captain from the much admired warriors of Homer. In olden days -Captain Miltiades’ glory would have quite outshone that of his puny -namesake; as a complete hero, upon his own description, he would have -occupied the niche of fame with Hercules and Theseus. - -Necessarily there was the sofa, the Greek seat of honour, upon which -all distinguished visitors are at once installed, this law, like that -of the Medes and Persians, knowing no change. Also sundry tables -decorated with albums and the school prizes of the young ladies, the -bank-clerk, and the Captain of the Artillery. All the chairs were -covered with white dimity, and the floor was polished with bees’ wax, -which gave the room an aspect of chill neatness. - -Andromache was interrupted in a conscientious study of scales by the -entrance of her mother and Julia, and the former’s irrelevant question: - -“Don’t you think that young man was English, Andromache?” - -“I don’t know, mother, possibly,” was Andromache’s impatient answer, -for, though it grieves me to unveil the secret workings of a maiden’s -mind, I must perforce confess that the student was thinking just then -of Rudolph’s kind and sympathetic glance. - -“Can’t you stop that horrible noise and describe him?” said Julia. “You -know I always want to hear about foreigners.” - -“He was fair and tall and handsome, with very kind blue eyes, light, -not dark like those of Miltiades--there, that’s all I can say about -him,” said Andromache, rising, and standing at the window to stare -across at the gardens of the French School. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -HOW GUSTAV REINEKE MISSED MADAME JAROVISKY’S BALL. - - -The illustrious Dr. Galenides had just seated himself at his desk to -write a note to his no less illustrious colleague, Dr. Melanos, while -his hat and gloves on the study table and his carriage outside were -testimony of a contemplated professional drive. The study door was -suddenly opened with what Dr. Galenides regarded as undue familiarity, -and looking up sharply, prepared to administer the deserved rebuke, the -learned physician recognised in the intruder an old friend and brother -in profession. The new-comer, a rough, provincial-looking Hercules, was -Dr. Selaka of Tenos, a member of his Majesty’s parliament, called for -some unaccountable reason, “The King of Tenos.” Instead of a rebuke, -Dr. Galenides administered an effusive embrace, and clasped this -insular majesty to his capacious bosom. - -“What a splendid surprise, my dear Constantine!” he cried, when he had -kissed both Selaka’s bronzed cheeks. “When did you come to Athens?” - -“Last night. I have come to oppose two new measures of the Minister. -Have you read his speech on the Budget?” - -“Of course. I thought it displayed great moderation and sagacity. -There’s a statesman if you will, Constantine.” - -“May the devil sit upon his moustache for an English humbug! England -here, England there! Ouf! But wait until he has me to tackle him.” - -“You’ll lead him a dance, I’ve no doubt,” laughed Galenides. “But how -are all the family?” - -“Very well. My niece Inarime is growing more beautiful every day. All -the islanders are in love with her. A queer old dog is Pericles. He has -brought that girl up in the maddest fashion. Nothing but ancient Greek -and that sort of thing, and he has made up his mind she will marry a -foreign archæologist, or die an old maid.” - -“Yes, I always thought him unpractical and foolish, but I tremendously -respect his learning. Why doesn’t he bring the girl to Athens, if he -won’t marry her to a Teniote?” - -“Well, he talks vaguely of some such intention. You are going out, I -see.” - -“Yes, and that reminds me, Selaka. I was just writing a line to -Melanos, but you’ll do just as well. There is a foreigner sick in the -Hôtel de la Grande Bretagne who has sent for me. Could you go round and -look at him? I haven’t a spare moment to-day. If I am absolutely wanted -for a consultation, of course, I’ll endeavour to attend.” - -Selaka consented with alacrity, and the friends parted with cordiality -at the door, one to seat himself in a comfortable carriage, and be -rolled swiftly to the Queen’s Hospital in the new quarter of Athens, -the Teniote to walk to the Hôtel de la Grande Bretagne, a little -above Constitution Square, overlooking the orange trees and fountains -in front of the Royal Palace. He was delighted with the prospect of -meeting a distinguished foreigner, distinction proclaimed in the choice -of hotel, and he would profit by the occasion to discuss the politics -of Bismarck with this M. Reineke. - -The waiters favoured him with that insolent reception usually bestowed -by waiters of distinguished hotels upon foot and provincial-looking -arrivals. But the mention of the illustrious Dr. Galenides cleared -the haughty brow of Demosthenes; and when Selaka furthermore stated -that that great personage had sent him to feel the pulse of the sick -foreigner, Demosthenes condescended to call to Socrates, a lesser -luminary among the hotel officials, and signified to his satellite that -Dr. Selaka might be conducted to M. Reineke’s chamber. - -Selaka found his patient, a young man of about twenty-eight, lying on -a sofa, wrapped in a silk dressing-gown, with an elegant travelling -rug thrown across his feet. Selaka’s keen glance rested in amazement -on a delicate Eastern head, long grave eyes of the unfathomable and -colourless shade of water flowing over dark tones, with a very noble -and intense look in them, a high smooth brow that strengthened this -expression of nobility, and finely-cut lips seen through the waves of -dark beard and moustache as benign as a sage’s. It was a thoughtful, -spiritual face, serene in its strength, unimpassioned in its -kindliness--the face of a student and a gentleman. - -“I should never take you to be a German, M. Reineke,” said Selaka, -after their first greeting, seating himself beside the sofa, and -taking the sick man’s supple fingers into his. - -“No one does,” said Reineke, in such pure French as to put to shame -Selaka’s grotesque accent. His voice was musical and low, with a -softness of tone in harmony with his peculiar beauty, and fever gave it -a ring of weariness. - -“Are you going to order me quinine, doctor?” - -“Why, naturally. How else would you break a fever?” - -“But I cannot take it, doctor. It disagrees with me.” - -“That is a pity. Four doses taken in four hours cut the worst fever, -and set a man on his feet in a day.” - -“Some constitutions can bear it, I suppose. But I nearly died after -quinine treatment in Egypt. My head has not ceased going round ever -since.” - -“Your temperature is over a hundred, and you refuse to take quinine! -Then there is nothing for you but to linger on in this state. Low diet -and repose--that is all I can prescribe.” - -Left alone, the sick man closed his eyes wearily and turned to sleep, -out of which he was shaken by a knock at the door, and the head of an -Englishman thrust itself inside. - -“Can I come in, Mr. Reineke?” - -“Pray do, Mr. Warren,” said Reineke, smiling agreeably. “It is kind -of you to find time to visit a sick wretch amid all your _fêtes_ and -sight-seeing.” - -“Oh, that is a real pleasure. Only I am so sorry to see you cut up like -this and losing all the fun. It was awfully jolly at the Von Hohenfels’ -last week. There was an outrageous lioness there. For the life of me I -could not catch her name. The governor wants to secure her for London. -By Jove! what a tartar! She nearly ate the French viscount up in a -bite.” - -“Yes, I heard about it, but she is a very distinguished artist, I -believe. You’ve been to Sunium since?” - -“Came back to-day for the Jaroviskys’ ball. What a jolly people these -Greeks are! The entire country seems at our disposal. Special trains, -special boats and guides. Oh, we had an awfully good time, I tell you: -inspected the Laurion mines, and looked awfully wise about them and -everything else. But surely you’ll be able to go to the Jaroviskys’ -to-morrow? What did the doctor say?” - -“Nothing wise--a doctor never does.” - -“Look here, old fellow, we can’t leave you here while we are dancing -and flirting with the pretty Athenians.” - -“If the pretty Athenians guessed my nationality, they would not be very -eager to have me dance and flirt with them.” - -“Then the governor was right? You are not a German?” - -“No, I am a Turk. I have lived a good deal in Germany, so I adopted a -Teuton name upon coming to Greece to avoid disagreeable associations -for the natives. It is very comfortable. I was bored in Paris by the -way people stared at me, and whispered openly about me when they heard -my Turkish name, so I mean not to resume it. If I played the piano, the -ladies fell into ecstatic wonder.” - -“Well, we are accustomed to the old-fashioned Turk, cross-legged, on -a pile of cushions, in flowing garb and turban, smoking a narghile, -with a lovely Fatima or two by his side, and exclaiming frequently in -sepulchral tones, ‘Allah be praised!’ It will doubtless take us some -time to grow used to the newer picture presented by you.” - -“Is it not aggravating to be kept here in a darkened room, while near -me are ruined porticoes and columns, where once my people built their -Moslem forts and turrets, and the voice of the muezzin broke the -lone silence after the Pagan days? There is not even a glimpse from -my window of that mass of broken pillars that stood out so plainly -against the sky when we entered the Piraeus. I feel like a child -waiting for the play, when suddenly comes a hitch which keeps the -curtain down. I want to walk with the poets and philosophers, read -Plato in the groves of the Academe, stand with Œdipus and Antigone at -Colonneus, and look towards the towers and temples of Athens, walk -with Pericles and Phidias through the marbles of the Acropolis, with -none but the voices of glorious spirits to break the silence of the -universe,--those spirits who have burned into history the clear gold of -their unapproachable intellects, seeing with eyes that have served for -centuries, feeling with hearts that have beaten for all time, speaking -with lips upon which the noblest words are everlastingly carven.” - -“Gad, I see you are an enthusiast like our friend, Miss Winters, who -goes into fits when we inform her of some fresh rascality on the part -of the modern Greeks,” cried young Warren, marvelling to hear a Turk -talk in this fashion. - -“She is a charming old lady, and you youngsters downstairs should not -quiz her as you do. She engaged, if I were better, to carry me with -her on Sunday to read Paul’s sermon to the men of Athens on the hill -of Mars aloud. I have since been informed that it is customary for -the Athenians to take their Sunday airing along the foot of the hill -of Mars. Fancy the sensation we should have created, standing in a -respectful attitude beside the little American lady, piously reading -aloud the words of St. Paul.” - -Reineke laughed softly, while young Warren exploded in a burst of loud -merriment. - -“Do you know, when she discovered that the ruffian of a head-waiter -is called Demosthenes, she looked so horribly like embracing him, -that, seriously alarmed, I exclaimed, ‘Madam, I beseech you, pause in -your rash career.’ I don’t think she quite realised the extent of my -service, for she very nearly quarrelled with me when I mentioned that -Demosthenes is in the habit of defrauding our poor Jehus of at least -half their profits.” - -“Amiable enthusiast! But don’t class me with her. I have no illusions -about the modern Greeks. I have seen in the East how they take -advantage of our good-nature and our dislike to trade. I know them to -cheat and bargain and deceive, and grow fat upon the kindness of those -who trust them. But what have they in common with the ancients? They -have not the intellect, the unerring taste, the exquisite restraint of -language and bearing, the sunny gravity of temperament, the simplicity -and keen love of the beautiful. If they were really the descendants of -the old race, there would be some signs whereby we should recognise -their glorious heritage.” - -“I don’t know. Perhaps, if we knew the opinion held by the Persians and -the barbarians of the old Hellenes--it would be probably very different -from their own.” - -“We don’t need any opinion with the works they have left. Such -eloquence as that is incontrovertible, and in the face of it, their -representatives to-day are as much out of place here as were the -Franks, the Italians and the Turks. It was a desecration to have built -on these immortal shores a nation sprung from slavery and the refuse -of the Middle Ages--without tradition or any right to believe in its -own destiny. What do they care for? Money, trade! They have no real -reverence for knowledge, except that it helps in the acquirement of -wealth and power. You will find no Greek ready to consecrate his days, -aye, and his nights, to the disinterested dispersion of the clouds -of ignorance by as much as a rushlight of knowledge, capable of the -unglorified, untrumpeted, unrecognised patience and labour of the -scholar. Nor would he willingly choose poverty and obscurity that he -might live the life of the spirit.” - -“Well, I am afraid there are not many of us who would,” said Warren, -good-naturedly. “And these people have their virtues. They are sober -and moral.” - -“They are indeed, and they are not cruel to their children or their -wives, but they make up for the omission by horrible cruelty to -animals. They frequently amuse themselves by tying a barrel of -petroleum to the tails of a couple of dogs, and firing it, for the -delicate pleasure of gloating over the death agonies of the poor -brutes.” - -“Good heavens! What awful savages! But do you know, Mr. Reineke, it -would be a just punishment for your ill opinion of them if you fell in -love with a Greek. ’Pon my word, there are some very pretty girls here.” - -“It is possible. But mere beauty has no attraction for me. I have -seen lovely women in the East, indolent, unthinking beings, whom I -couldn’t respect. I would sooner have a wicked woman who had elements -of greatness in her than a virtuous one who had none. Aspasia I should -have adored. It is because the women we mostly meet are so insipid that -I have never thought to fill my life with the consuming excitement of -love. I should feel ashamed and grieved to place my manhood under the -feet of a mere household pet, or a drawing-room ornament, a fluttering, -flounced marionette with the soul in her eyes gone astray, her lips -twisted out of the lovely sensibility of womanhood by senseless chatter -and laughter far sadder than tears. To see so many exquisite creatures -meant to be worshipped by us, and only ridiculed, meant to guide and -ennoble us, and preferring degradation; the purity of maidenly eyes -lost in the vilest audacity of gaze, and the high post of spiritual -guardians of the world bartered for unworthy conquests.” - -“How cold-blooded to be able to furnish all these excellent reasons -for not making a fool of yourself! Well, may we hope to see you at the -Jaroviskys’?” - -“I am afraid not. But pray, come and tell me how you have enjoyed -yourself when you have a moment to spare.” - -“And shall I give your love to Miss Winters?” - -“Hardly that, but present her with my most distinguished compliments, -if that is good English.” - -Dr. Selaka that evening found Reineke more feverish, and although he -was not anxious to lose sight of his patient, he seriously advised a -sea voyage as the only adequate substitution for quinine. - -He was greatly interested in this handsome stranger with the dark -beard and romantic intensity of gaze, and speculated wildly on his -nationality and circumstances as he walked from the hotel. He thought -he might be a Spaniard, until, remembering the late Spanish Minister, -who could not pay his passage back to Spain, and only got as far as -Corfu by selling all the clothes and furniture he had never paid for, -he decided that the Spaniards were a miserable race. The Italians, -he thought, were not much better, and Reineke as little resembled a -Frenchman as he did a German. - -“You might go to Poros,” he said to Gustav. “It is a pretty place, and -the trip would do you good.” - -“Why not one of the Ægean Islands?” suggested Gustav. - -“Certainly. There is Tenos. I live there myself, and I have a brother -whom you could stay with for a day or two.” - -Selaka coloured with a sudden astonishing thought. This stranger was -rich, perhaps unmarried. He might fall in love with Inarime. Now he was -bent on urging the trip to Tenos, before undreamed of. “I’ll telegraph -to my brother, and you can travel in the _Sphacteria_. The captain is -my godson.” - -“You are very kind, doctor, and I am ashamed to accept such favours -from you,” said Reineke, truthfully, in surprised assent. - -“Oh, it is a pleasure. We Greeks love to see strangers.” - -“Then I will go to-morrow. I want to get well as soon as possible, for -I have much to do here,” said Reineke. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -A FIGHT IN THE CAMP OF HELLAS. - - -Crossing Constitution Square the king of Tenos was hilariously -accosted by one of his satellites, a member of the Opposition and -a lawyer of parchment exterior, whose career had been varied as it -was unremunerative. Starting in life as domestic servant, he had -found leisure to attend the University, and buy legal books with his -perquisites. His stern profession by no means impeded the unsuccessful -editorship of several newspapers--comic, political and satirical, each -of which enjoyed a kind of ephemeral reputation and lasted about six -months, leaving the venturous editor with a lighter pocket, and now he -was Selaka’s colleague in obstruction. - -“This is the best answer to my telegram, Constantine,” said Stavros. -“What a day we’ll have of it in the Boulé[A]--eh?” - -“Oh, ay, the Budget Speech. Leave it to me, Stavros. We’ll egg them on -to an explosion. Keep to the caricatures. Collars and cuffs Minister! -Ouf! Have you been pumping our friends about the Mayoralty?” - -“Trust me. Our side is for you to a man. The party for Oïdas is -strong, I admit, and wealth is in his favour, but I think we shall be -able to pull you through.” - -“If only! Listen Stavros, if I get in as Mayor, I’ll make you a present -of a thousand francs, and I’ll secure your son the first vacant place -in the University. I know your power,” he added, slyly. - -The man of documents swelled with a sense of his own importance. Of -that he had no doubt. The ministry depended on the state of his temper, -which was uncertain, and the Lord be praised, what is a man if he has -not his influence at the beck and call of his friends? - -“Oïdas has spent a lot of money on the town,” he hinted. - -“That is so. He is enormously rich, and takes care to advertise that -fact,” Dr. Selaka replied. - -“Well, we must spend money too,--in some cases we can only seem to -spend it, and it will come to the same thing, my friend. But I’m -hopeful, Constantine. You started on good lines. The swiftest path to -celebrity is opposition, and you have never done anything else but -oppose. It is a fine career, man, and gives you a decided superiority -over the humble and compliant. The man who opposes need never trouble -himself for reasons. His vote on the introduction of a measure is -sufficient to insure him importance.” - -“If obstruction be a merit, I have been obstructing these ten years, -and the Mayoralty of Athens seems rather a modest claim upon such a -display of superiority,” said Dr. Selaka, quite seriously. - -The lawyer’s humour was profoundly tickled. The follies of the weak and -foolish were a source of infinite amusement to him. It was he who had -urged the Teniote to the coming ambitious contest, not that he in the -least contemplated success, but he understood that with a wiser man to -lead, his part would be a much less exciting one. - -“We are the _Parnellistoi_ of Greece, Constantine,” he said, with an -air of ponderous assertion. “We may be beaten, but our hour of triumph -is only retarded.” - -He conscientiously consulted his watch, and then added, as an -afterthought: - -“You will need a larger house, Constantine.” - -“I have thought of that, and have been inquiring about the expenses of -building. I have a spot in view near the new Hospital. It will be a -heavy item added to my election expenses, but my brother Pericles will -come to my assistance, I make no doubt.” - -“Why does he not come here himself, and establish his family? The man -is insane to bury himself in Tenos.” - -“With as handsome a daughter as ever the eyes of man fell upon,” -interrupted the doctor, angrily. - -“My faith! you must bring him to Athens. A handsome niece well dowered -will be a feather in your cap. Play her off against Oïdas, and you’ll -have the men on your side.” - -“Pouf! Use a woman in politics! But if Pericles will let me look out -for a son-in-law for him, something might be done in that way.” - -“Why not? There are Mingros and Palle, both rich men. With either of -them for a nephew you might aspire to be prime minister.” - -“You don’t know Pericles. He is a confounded idiot. Nothing but -learning will go down with him. Death before dishonour. Modern Athens -represents dishonour to him, because it presumes to prefer other things -to the very respectable ancients. If he came to Athens, like Jarovisky, -he would expect Inarime to fix her eyes permanently on the Acropolis, -with intervals for recognition of the Theseium and minor points -of antiquity. I foresee her end. He’ll marry her to some wretched -twopenny-halfpenny archæologist, who will barely be able to pay the -rent of a flat in some shabby street, and the wages of a maid of all -work.” - -“We must avert her doom, Constantine. Have her up to town, and bring -her some night to the theatre when the King is expected to attend. The -young men will stare at her from the stalls, and I’ll have an elegant -verse upon her in the ‘New Aristophanes.’” - -This proposition brought them to the Boulé in Stadion Street. The Prime -Minister’s carriage was outside, and along the railing a row of loafers -reclined, discussing each member as he passed in, and the space inside -the gates was strewn with soldiers and civilians of every grade. The -sharp swarthy faces lit up with eager recognition when Dr. Selaka and -Stavros entered the gate, and familiar and jocose greetings were flung -casually at them from the crowd. - -“Glad to see you have a new coat, Constantine,” one urchin roared after -Selaka, and sent his admirers into fits of laughter. - -With the dignity of demeanour it behoved a mayor-elect to assume, -Selaka coldly ignored the jibes and jokes of the loafers, touched his -hat to his acquaintances and ascended the steps of the Chamber with -weighty prophecy of obstruction upon his brow. The interior of the -Chamber was a sight for the gods. The floor behind the president was -held by corner-boys, soldiers, peasants and beggars in common with the -representatives of King George’s Parliament. Deputies in fustanella and -embroidered jacket showed pictorially against the less imposing apparel -of civilization, and addressed the president at their ease, frequently -not condescending to stand, but lounged back in their seats, and merely -arrested his attention with an authoritative hand. The proceedings -could be watched upstairs from a gallery of boxes, and a very amusing -and lively half-hour might thus be spent. The stage below was filled -with grown-up children, who fought and wrangled, exchanged amenities -and breathless personalities, and foolishly imagined they were ruling -the country. It is impossible to conjecture what a parliament of women -would be like, but we can safely predict that it could not well surpass -the average parliament of men in the futile chatter, squabbling and -display of ill-temper. - -Dr. Selaka took his seat in a leisurely manner, under the minister’s -eye, on the front seat, and listened, with a protruded underlip and -the look of sagacity on the alert. Stavros sat back, extending his -arms behind the backs of his neighbors, and wore an expression of -ostentatious amusement befitting the editor of a satirical newspaper. - -The unlucky minister hazarded a loose statement, which gave Dr. Selaka -his opportunity. He was on his legs, with two spots of excited red -staining his sallow cheeks under the eyes, and opened a vehement fire -of epithet and expostulation. The minister retorted, and Stavros, -seated where he was, just held out a cool protesting finger, and cried: -“You lie.” - -The English Cabinet Minister was sitting upstairs in the box set apart -for the diplomatic corps, and on this statement being translated to -him, he leant forward and focussed the lawyer with his impertinent -eyeglass. This was a species of parliamentary frankness with which he -was not familiar, used as he was to having his veracity challenged in a -variety of forms. As a novelty it was worth observing--especially the -attitude of the minister thus given “the lie direct.” - -The president tapped the table and called for order, which was -naturally the signal for boisterous disorder. The premier sat down -amidst a torrent of words, and the Minister of Foreign Affairs rose to -fight his battle as chief lieutenant. The storm raged to the pitch of -universal howls, and when at last there was a momentary lull in the -atmosphere, exasperated by the abuse of which he had been the free -recipient, Stavros jumped up, and flashing threateningly upon the -Minister of Foreign Affairs, roared out:-- - -“It well becomes you to abuse me. You live in a fine house now, and -keep your carriage, but for all that, I can remember the time when you -were glad to wear my old clothes.” - -Dead silence greeted this retort, and a grim smile relaxed the grave -faces of the members. No personality is too gross to tickle this most -democratic race, and anything that levels the proud man delights them. -The Right Honourable Samuel Warren, M. P., upstairs, decided to take -the light of his illustrious presence from such a shocking scene, -wavered, and remembering mythology, bethought himself of the laughter -of the gods. He was abroad in the pursuit of knowledge, and this was -certainly experience. - -Stavros was frantically adjured to withdraw and apologise, and as -frantically refused to do any such thing. His colleague and imagined -leader stood up in his defence and the obstructionist became riotous -to the verge of hysterics, until the Right Honourable Samuel Warren, -looking down upon the spectacle from a safe distance, really believed -he had been dropped into Bedlam instead of Parliament. Uproar succeeded -angry protest in deafening succession; with the rapidity of thought -mere speech was rejected as inadequate to the occasion. The generals, -almost as numerous as soldiers, jumped upon their seats and brandished -their hats terrifically. The hapless president made his escape, leaving -the chair to one of the vice-presidents, and Constantine Selaka with an -agile bound cleared the space intervening between the members’ seats -and the tribune, installed himself therein, and shouted his intention -of keeping the Chamber sitting until the demands of his party were -complied with. - -“And would Kyrios Selaka be good enough to state categorically the -demands of his party?” the Prime Minister asked, standing to go, -holding his hat in his hand, with an officially negative look. - -This was a rash invitation. Selaka burst into an interminable, involved -and idiotic speech, which Stavros followed from his seat with one much -more involved and personal, and much less idiotic. - -Evening descended, the dinner-hour passed, and still the unfortunate -vice-president held the chair, and exercised his authority by a -furious and inappropriate ringing of the bell, and calls for attention. -Exhausted and famished deputies dropped out of representative life -in search of animal food; others clamoured for cessation of the -strife, and pathetically referred to the solace of the domestic -circle. But Stavros and Selaka were adamant. The clamours of nature -were unheeded by them; when one shouted and orated, the other sought -comfort in cigarette and coffee. Night came, and found Selaka still -in the tribune, gloomy, ravenous, and resolute. Meanwhile Stavros had -refreshed himself with a snatch of food outside. He returned to the -charge while his leader shot into the corridors, and collared excited -and admiring attendants in the pursuit of food. - -“We are as good as the Parnellistoi over in London,” Selaka remarked, -and rubbed his hands with joy, as he and his friend walked home at the -end of the protracted sitting. - -“That is so, Constantine,” said Stavros, who dearly loved a row of any -sort, and who since he could not fight the European powers in person, -solaced himself by fighting a temporising president and a tame party. -“You’ll be mayor to a certainty.” - -“Mayor indeed!” ejaculated Constantine, keenly measuring his own sudden -charge for notoriety. “It’s minister at least I ought to be. I have -tackled them, Stavros, eh?” - -His friend thought so, and went home to express his opinion in three -columns of laudatory prose and twelve satirical verses describing the -great Homeric fray. - -FOOTNOTE: - -[A] The Greeks call their modern Parliament by the classical name of -Boulé. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -PHOTINI NATZELHUBER. - - -Many years ago a German mechanic drifted, in the spirit of adventure, -eastwards, and finding the conditions of life offered him in Athens -sufficiently attractive for a man desirous of earning his bread in the -easiest manner possible, and not contemptuously inclined towards the -midday siesta, the excellent Teuton settled down in the city we may -presume to be no longer under the special patronage of Wisdom. Not that -Jacob Natzelhuber regretted that Athens’ reign was over. The mechanic -was ignominiously indifferent to all great questions, and so long as -his employers continued to pay him his weekly wages, conscientiously -earned and conscientiously saved, the extravagances of the unfortunate -King Otho and the virtues of Queen Amelia troubled him as little as did -the glorious ruins on the Acropolis. He never went near the Acropolis. -When his glance rested on the mass of broken pillars and temples that -dominate every view of the town, he doubtless confused them with the -eccentric shapes of the adjoining hills, and if asked his opinion -of that point of classic memories, would tranquilly remove his pipe -from his lips and remark that the other hill, his own special friend, -Lycabettus, was higher. A good-humored, egoistic, phlegmatic workman, -for the rest; fond of leisurely meditation on nothing, fond of smoking -in his shirt-sleeves with the help of an occasional glass of mastia or -brandy, and convinced that the world goes very well now as it did in -olden days, and that the Greek is a composite of barbarian and child. - -In a wife one naturally chooses what is most convenient, if one cannot -obtain what is most suitable. Jacob chanced upon an enormous indolent -maiden, dowered as Greek maids usually are, with a father whose house -property was prophetic of better things to come. The girl was not -handsome--nor as cleanly or learned in household matters as a German -_frau_; but some half dozen years in the makeshift of Oriental domestic -life had served to deaden Jacob’s fastidious sensibilities in this -department, and with the prospect of a little money and a couple of -houses in the neighbourhood of Lycabettus by and by, on the death of a -respectable father-in-law, he was so far demoralised as to face this -unsavory future with tolerable tranquillity. They married. - -The slow and philosophic Teuton found his Athenian wife and their one -servant--a small barefooted child, in perpetual terror of her mistress, -whose reprimands generally came upon her in the shape of tin utensils, -water-jugs or stiff tugs of hair and ear--rather more noisy than a -simple woman and child should be, to his thinking. But he preferred -a quiet smoke on the balcony to interference in the kitchen, whence -the sounds of hysterical cries, very bad language indeed, and sundry -breaking articles reached him. - -The lady, when not in a rage, a rare enough occurrence, was an amiable -woman so long as her innocent habits were not interfered with. Jacob -was indisposed to interfere with any one--even with his own wife. -So Kyria Photini peacefully smoked her three or four cigarettes, -and drank her small glass of cognac of an evening, chattered in -high Athenian tones with her neighbours, arrayed in a more or less -soiled white morning jacket, and any kind of a skirt, with black hair -all dishevelled, and sallow cheeks not indicative of an immoderate -preference for cold water and soap. The little maid trembled and broke -plates, went about with bare feet, short skirts and unkempt woolly -hair, meeting her mistress’s vituperations with a wooden animal look, -and lifting a protective arm to catch the threatened blow or object. -Jacob was not happy, but he was philosopher enough to know that few -people ever are, and that the highest wisdom consists in knowing how -to make the best of even the worst. He was fond of his wife in his -heavy German fashion, removed his pipe, and said, “come, come,” when -the heat unstrung her nerves and sent her from her normal condition, -bordering on hysterics, into positive madness; consoled himself by -remembering that distinguished men in all ages have agreed that woman -is incomprehensible, and hoped for some acceptable amelioration with -the birth of the expected baby. - -The baby came, a small dark girl, and the baby’s mother went to heaven, -Jacob naturally supposed, and shed the customary tears of regret, -though it can hardly have been happiness or comfort that he regretted. -He engaged an Athenian woman to look after the child, and returned to -his daily work and bachelor habits, deterred by recent experiences from -making any other venture in the search of domestic bliss. The child -was called Photini, and it was greatly to be hoped that a little of the -paternal temperament would go to correct the vices of the maternal, but -there are relative stages in the path of moral development, and a lazy, -hysterical, soulless woman is not the worst thing in feminine nature. - -Photini grew up pretty much as the animals do, without any but merely -natural obligations placed upon her. She ran about like a little street -arab, learned neither reading, nor writing, nor catechism, nor sewing; -swore like a small trooper, was more than a match for the barefooted, -unkempt-headed girl, who soon learned to tremble before her as she had -formerly trembled before her mother; was even too much for her quiet -father, who began to be afraid of her furious explosions, and was too -indifferent to the duties of paternity to trouble himself seriously -about her education. Yet a pretty and striking child she was, with -large topaz eyes, that in their audacity and frankness were sufficient -in themselves to arrest attention, if there were no mossy black curls -making an engaging network above and around the fine boyish brow; -with the absurdest and sauciest nose and a wide, pale mouth that had -a way of twisting itself into every imaginable grimace without losing -a certain disreputable charm of curve and expression. A face full -of precocious evil, but withal exquisitely candid--what the French -would call a _ragged_ face, warning you and yet claiming a sort of -indefinable admiration from its absolute courage and truthfulness. She -took to the streets as kindly as if she had been born in them, rolling -about in mud and dust in the full enjoyment of unfettered childhood, -dealing blows, expletives, kisses and ugly names with generous -indifference. With every one she quarrelled, not as children do, but as -savages quarrel, fiercely and murderously; but even in this innocent -age she displayed a frank preference for the male sex. Girls filled -her with unlimited contempt, and she was never really happy unless -surrounded by a group of noisy, quarrelling boys. Then her pretty teeth -would gleam in wild laughter, and she would talk more nonsense in five -minutes than any six ordinary girls in an hour. - -The father saw the lamentable condition of his child, but being a -philosopher and caring only for abstract meditations and his ease, he -preferred that she should be kept out of his sight as much as possible, -than that he should be asked to mend matters. What can a man be -expected to do with a motherless baby girl? Not teach it the alphabet, -surely? Nor walk it about the barren slopes of Lycabettus of a Sunday, -nor initiate it into the mysteries of the Catechism? Clearly there was -nothing else for a hard-working and good-tempered German to do but let -nature work her will on such unpromising and unmanageable material, -and continued to smoke his pipe and drink his mastic at his favourite -coffee-house fronting Lycabettus. If nature failed, it was far from -likely that he should succeed, and it was too much to expect him to -devote his rare leisure hours to his unruly child. The neighbours did -not, however, regard it in this light; but then neighbours never are -disposed to regard the concerns of others from a reasonable point of -view. So many improvements they could bring into the management of your -family matters which they fail to bring into their own. No, no; leave a -philosopher to find the easiest road of life and to discover a way out -of all domestic responsibilities. Socrates was an admirable example in -this high path, and if he could discourse in public on the immortality -of the soul and other subjects, while his much calumniated wife and -child wanted bread at home, a more modest individual like Jacob -Natzelhuber might certainly sip his mastic in the Greek sunshine, and -cherish a poor opinion of the policy of Metternich, while his little -daughter was running about the narrow Athenian streets. - -But there was one saving and remarkable grace about Photini. Not only -did she display a nascent passion for music, but even as an infant -she had shown an amazing taste for thrumming imaginary tunes on every -object with which her fingers came in contact. When not fighting with a -dozen amiable little beggars, or rolling delightedly in mud and dust, -she was always to be seen playing this imaginary music of hers, and on -the few occasions when her father took her to hear the German band on -the Patissia Road, the sight of the King and Queen on horseback was -nothing to her in comparison with the joy of sound. - -This growing passion was becoming too prominent and imperious to be -long overlooked; besides, Jacob had a German’s reverence for true -musical proclivities, so he purchased the cheapest piano to be had, -engaged the services of a Bavarian music master who had come to Athens -in the hope of making his fortune under his compatriot king, and -for so many hours in the day, at least, Photini was guaranteed from -mischief. Her progress was something more than astonishing, and caused -the Bavarian to give his spectacles an extra polish before announcing -gravely to Jacob that Liszt himself could not ask for a more promising -pupil. This naturally made Jacob very thoughtful, and sent his aimless -meditations into quite a new channel. It is a negative condition of -mind to feel that one has a poor opinion of Metternich, but to learn -that one has a genius in one’s daughter leads to disagreeably positive -reflections. - -Now Jacob was a quiet man, we know, and the idea of an exceptional -child frightened him. It was not an enviable responsibility in his -estimation. Far from it, a distinctly painful one. An ordinary girl who -would have grown just a little better-looking than her mother, learned -to sew and housekeep in the usual way, and terminated an uneventful -girlhood by marriage into something better than mechanics, thanks to -his industry and economy--this was his ideal of a daughter’s career. -Evidently here Nature thought differently. - -As soon, however, as he had given a conscientious attention to -Photini’s talent, greatly injured by the modest instrument on which she -played, he came to the conclusion that this was not a case in which -man can interfere, and that he was before a vocation claiming its -legitimate right of sovereignty and refusing to be shifted off into the -shallow byways of existence. - -“I am of your opinion,” he said to the Bavarian master. “It is no -common talent, that of my girl, but for my part I would far rather she -did not know a major from a minor scale. It is not a woman’s business. -However, I can do nothing now. I leave the matter in your hands. I -am a poor man, but whatever you propose, as far as it is honourably -necessary, I will make an effort to meet your proposal,” he added, -with a slow, grave look. - -“There is nothing for it but Germany, Natzelhuber,” said the Bavarian, -promptly. “I should fancy we might manage, with the help of your -father-in-law, a little influence I possess, and the girl’s own genius, -to get her three or four years’ study in Leipzig. Once that much -assured, she need only keep her head above water, and the waves will -surely carry her----” - -The Bavarian flung out his hands in an attitude suggestive of infinity. - -“Well, well, so long as they do not carry her into evil,” said Jacob, -shaking his head mournfully. “I am mistrustful of a public career for a -woman.” - -“You cannot deny that it is better than marriage with a man of your own -class.” - -“I am not so sure about that. But I am afraid Photini will turn out -one of those women who had best avoid marriage with any one. She does -not look likely to make any man happy, or herself either. A perverse, -passionate, uneducated girl, with more ugly names in her head than any -two ordinary street boys, and not a single good or amiable instinct in -her that I can see.” - -Jacob, excellent man, quite forgot to take into consideration that he -himself was far from innocent of these disastrous results, and that his -paternal indifference had had far more to do with her ill condition -than any predisposition of the child’s. - -“That is quite another matter and one that concerns me not at all,” -rejoined the Bavarian, indifferently. “Art, my dear sir, Art! Fraulein -Photini represents an abstract idea to me. The problem of her destiny -as a woman has no attraction for me. She may marry, or she may -not--she is not a pretty girl, but I have seen men make idiots of -themselves about uglier. It all depends on the spectacles you use. But -I am of opinion that a woman of genius has no business with marriage. -Goethe, you may remember, wisely calls it the grave of her genius.” - -“Probably, but there is time enough to think of that.” - -Photini’s grandfather, when consulted, was only too glad to contribute -towards the speculation of winging this hybrid fledgling from the -parent nest. The Greeks have a naïve respect for fame, of which there -was promise in Photini’s talent, so her relatives willingly abstracted -a portion from the family funds for her use. - -One October morning, Photini, a stripling rather than a girl, of -fifteen, with big keen yellow eyes and soft dark curls breaking away -from the eyebrows in petulant confusion over and round her head like a -boy’s, escorted by a faintly disapproving and anxious father, left the -Piræus on an Austrian liner bound for Trieste. Not at all a pretty or -attractive girl, most people would decide; of a vulgar indefiniteness -of type and a coarseness of expression hardly excused by the charming -hair and strange eyes. But she had the virtue of extreme youth on her -side, as shown in the slender and supple frame, in the freshness and -surprise of her glance, and in the rounded olive cheek melting into a -full throat like a bird’s. And youth, God bless it, carries its own -apology anywhere; it is the time of possibilities and vague hopes. This -girl might, nay, must grow less brusque, less vulgar, less boyish with -the development of womanhood; and as her features would refine, so -would her heart, at present as safe and hard as a coral, expand and -open out its hidden buds of tremulous sensibility and delicate feeling. - -Her second year in Leipzig brought her the third medal, and a decided -reputation, yet there were many complaints against her. She had -unpardonable fits of idleness broken by explosions of temper, and -language hardly less gross than what might be expected in the lowest -phase of society. These shortcomings, added to a sharpness of manner -and a coarseness of mind, terrified and astounded her masters, who, -however, were ready enough to overlook such deficiencies when under -the spell of her masterful playing. A girl of seventeen with already -an unmistakable fire of inspiration and an echo of Liszt in her touch -was not to be despised clearly, whatever her vices, and they, alas! -were many, and promised to be more. Her companions shunned her, and -her masters spoke of her as “La gamine,” no other appellation being so -justly indicative of her appearance and manners. - -In the fourth year she left the Conservatoire, its acknowledged star, -and capable now of steering her own course in whatever direction -impulse or deliberate choice might push her. One of the fortunate -of this earth, standing, at twenty, apart, wrapped in the conscious -cloak of genius, a majesty, alas! she was incapable of measuring, and -which she was destined only to trail in the mire without reaping any -benefit, pecuniary or social, from its possession. It was almost as sad -a mistake on the part of Nature as if she had endowed one of the lower -animals with some glorious gift which could never be to it other than -a grotesque ornament. The girl understood nothing of responsibility, -and yet she was proud, unapproachably proud as an artist. She felt and -gloried in her superiority in a stupid senseless way; could not acquit -herself of the commonest civility towards those who were desirous of -helping her, had not the remotest idea of gratitude or the art of -gracious acceptance, and considered inconceivable rudeness to every one -who addressed her as her natural right. She ought to have been happy, -and would doubtless have been so had she known ambition, or felt a -moderate but healthy desire to please. But she was hardly conscious of -feelings of any kind, only of blind dim instincts of which she could -give no account to herself. Poor dumb, unfinished creature with but -half a soul, and that run to music. It was pitiable. As she massed -follies, proud stupidities, and degradations one upon the other, until -the thinnest thread of common sense, of merely animal self-protection -was lost to view, one could only wonder and grieve, but not excuse. -Nature seemed to have been the sinner, and the extravagant creature -her victim. And then there were lucid moments--wretched awakenings, -stupefied contemplation of the havoc that had been made of promise, of -ripe chances, and, by way of anodyne, a deeper plunge into the mire. - -Her first act of independence was a concert in Leipzig which proved an -abnormal success, and then upon the advice of her director she went -to Vienna, furnished with letters for Liszt. The amiable and courtly -king of pianists received her with an exquisite cordiality, expressed -the highest satisfaction with her abilities, gave her a few finishing -instructions which she received, as was her wont, ungraciously enough; -used his influence in securing her success with his own special public, -and recommended her to Rubinstein, who was then on his way back from -England. This was the beginning of the only lasting period of lucidity -in her mad career. - -She left Vienna with Liszt’s portrait and his autograph, “To the Queen -of Sound,” added to her meagre luggage, for it was not her way to -decorate her plainness of person by any unnecessary attention to her -toilet. Just as, music excepted, she was totally uneducated, illiterate -even, barely able to write a letter that would shame a peasant, in -Greek or German,--which languages she regarded as equally her native -tongues,--so her person was left rigidly unadorned. At twenty the -results of untidiness are not so deplorable as at thirty or forty, for -there is always the fresh round cheek and clear gaze as a relief, and -then the complete absence of vanity in a very young girl, constantly -before the public in a prominent position, is something so unusual that -one can afford to regard it with a smile of wonder rather than one of -disdain. The striking feature of the case was that she was fond of male -society--particularly of the admiring and love-making male. But heaven -help the innocence of the lover who expected her to put on a bow, or -brush her hair, or choose a hat with a view to please him! - -Rubinstein was more than satisfied with her; paid little or no -attention to any eccentricity of exterior or manner, and was ready and -glad to do all in his power to advance her. After some years of hard -work and occasional public appearances, it was agreed that she should -spend a season at St. Petersburg. - -Everybody was disposed to receive her with open arms and lift her to -a permanent and glorious pedestal. But good-natured and art-loving -Russian princesses and countesses had calculated without their host. -This young lady had no desire to be patronised or helped. People might -come to her concerts or to her as pupils, and they might stay away: it -mattered little to her which they did. In either case she was pretty -sure to regard them as idiots, and if they came to her they would have -the advantage of hearing it,--that was the difference, which made it -easier for them to stay away, as not only the Russian princesses and -countesses found out, but also the princes and counts. They might -invite her to their entertainments, but it was a wise precaution on -their part not to feel too sure of her presence--as for expecting -an answer to a polite letter or message, or civil treatment upon a -morning call or at a lesson, well, all this lay without the range of -probabilities for the most sanguine. - -Her peculiarities were incredible. Rubinstein’s name and influence -opened every door to her, and the results were unique. She appeared at -one Grand Duchess’s in evening dress with woollen gloves, to the dumb -amazement of distinguished guests, one sprightly duchess wondering why -she had omitted to come in waterproof and goloshes. When introduced -to an ambassador, and informed of his passion for music, she coolly -surveyed him from the top of his bald head to the edge of his white -gold-striped trousers, and said to her host: “I do not want to be -introduced to him. A fellow in gold can know nothing about music.” - -Her pupils she treated even worse. One young countess who was studying -Chopin with her sent her a rich plum cake. The Natzelhuber, as she -was called, was smoking a cigarette when the servant entered with the -countess’s letter, followed by a powdered footman who presented her the -cake with a stately bow. - -“Does your mistress fancy I am starving?” roared the artist, throwing -away her cigarette and seizing the cake in both hands. “What do I want -with her trumpery cakes? Tell her that is the reception it met with -from Photini Natzelhuber.” - -She opened the door, rolled the unfortunate cake down the stairs, flung -the gracious note after it, and upon them the frightened footman, who, -not foreseeing what was coming, was easily knocked off his balance by -her powerful little wrists. Of course the countess discontinued her -studies of Chopin, and the Natzelhuber can hardly be said to have been -the gainer in the transaction. These were the stupid blunders that left -her soon without a friend or a well-wisher. Incapable of a mean or an -ungenerous act; incapable of uttering a spiteful word behind an enemy’s -back, she was equally incapable of uttering a gracious one to the face -of a friend. The habit of recklessly indulging in vile language which -she acquired in the streets of Athens never left her, and ambassadors, -noblemen, artists and friends who momentarily offended her were never -less than “pigs, asses,” and other such gentle and inoffensive beings. -She could not help this failing any more than her bad temper and her -passion for brandy and sensual pleasures of every kind. - -“I know I am only a street vagabond mistakenly an artist, but I cannot -help it, nor do I desire to be otherwise,” she would say, in her -clearer moments. “I am mad too, and that I cannot help either.” - -Deeply tragic assertions both, but not more deeply tragic than the -wasted life and abilities of the woman who made them. The irritable -creature, sick to death of Russia, sick of the perpetual and -humiliating contrast between her condition and that of those around -her,--a humiliation she scorned in the majesty of artistic pride to -admit to herself, but smarted from in that vague, unrecognised way -all feelings outside music and the grosser sensations stirred within -her,--left St. Petersburg without even sending her P. P. C. cards. - -She appeared next in Munich, now twenty-seven, at the height of -artistic fame, only second to her master, able to command the best -audiences and prices, with a European reputation for a startling -perfection of _technique_, a grandeur of inspiration and a simplicity -of interpretation that only goes with absolute mastery. Rubinstein -and others had dedicated several works to her, and for ten years she -traversed the musical world a splendid enigma, a blight, a shame and -a sorrow. The possession of certain irregular passions might have -found ample apology in her genius, but the Natzelhuber so degraded -her art that it quite sank into abeyance in the presence of her -iniquities. The wonder was soon, not that such an artist should be -so gross, but that such a soulless creature should possess the power -of thrilling her hearers with every delicate perception of sense and -harmony. As the years gathered over her, a curious slowness, almost a -dignity of movement was noticeable in her. She began to awaken to the -consciousness that the Natzelhuber was a kind of sovereign in her way, -and should attract the eye and silence frivolous tongues by her manner -of entering a room. She was stouter now, but carried her bulk well, -holding her head erect and looking calmly at each speaker with those -strange yellow eyes of hers, so luminous under the boyish, feathery -curls. But the light in them shone from no spirit or soul,--sensuously -attractive were they, like those of a Circe. - -Thus life found her at thirty-five, alone and friendless, though the -Viennese were well disposed towards her upon her reappearance in their -midst. But she was too embittered and cross-grained to care greatly for -their applause, and accepted the love Agiropoulos offered her renown -rather than her wretched self, as a kind of feeble protection from -her own society. Her princely disdain for money and the making of it -left her very naturally in constant debt, and this state of things was -hardly calculated to improve her temper. - -About this time young Ehrenstein came to Vienna in search of that -distraction we are all agreed to prescribe in the first stage of -bereavement. He knew Liszt, and from him procured a letter of -introduction to Photini. Determined to make a good impression, he -ordered expensive tailoring, and went forth to subdue in the amiable -superiority of sex and social elegance. The door was opened to him by -an extraordinary woman, who held a cigarette in her hand, and glared -furiously upon the timid Cæsar who had come to see and conquer. - -“What do you want with me, young man? I do not know you, and -furthermore, I do not wish to know you. I am not at home.” - -Not a reception calculated to justify a young man’s innocent and -kindly estimate of his own value. Rudolph’s heart was in his mouth, -and the mildest form of expostulation was checked by fright and -amazement. Meeting Agiropoulos, he disclosed his hurt, upon which that -good-natured individual hastened to remonstrate with his irascible -friend. - -“Why on earth did you treat poor Ehrenstein so badly?” he asked, -surveying her with a look of impertinent amusement. “Do you know, -Photini, you often provoke a fellow into wishing you were a man that he -might relieve his feelings by a good open fight. But now to quarrel or -reason with a woman like you! Ouf! You are impossible!” - -“There is the door, if you are tired of me. If not, stay and hold your -tongue,” was the contemptuous retort, between two puffs of a cigarette. - -Agiropoulos had a certain sense of humor and a keen appreciation of -originality in any form. He laughed, and proceeded to roll a cigarette -in a very comfortable attitude. - -“But really, my dear Photini, you were wrong to behave as you did to -the lad. He is a very fair dilettante. He has just come from Pesth, -where he saw Liszt, who gave him a letter for you. He is wildly -desirous of hearing you play.” - -“It is possible. He should have said so. How was I to know that Franz -Liszt would send me a yellow-headed girl in trousers?” - -“But you did not give him time to say anything. You never do.” - -“Nobody ever has anything to say that is worth listening to. Poh, Poh, -Poh! The silliness of men and the weariness of life! Tell the fool he -can come to-morrow, and I’ll undertake not to eat him.” - -“He will be delighted to receive such satisfactory, and, on the whole, -rather necessary reassurance. His nature is so knightly that upon no -consideration, even the fear of offering himself as a meal, would he -dream of refusing to obey a lady’s mandate. And after his adventure -of yesterday, it is natural to suppose that he would view compliance -to-morrow with considerable trepidation of the possible results. By the -way, Photini, I am going to Athens in the morning.” - -He looked at her tranquilly, quite prepared for an explosion. She flung -away her cigarette, glanced at him just as serenely, and said:-- - -“So! Then I will follow you.” - -“That is kinder than anything I had dared to hope from you, Photini,” -said Agiropoulos, gracefully. “Then you care for me enough to disturb -yourself on my account.” - -The Natzelhuber lighted another cigarette, puffed silently awhile, and -fixed her lover with her steady imperturbable gaze. - -“Don’t flatter yourself, my dear fellow! I never disturb myself for any -one, but I am sick of Vienna.” - -“It strikes me, my excellent friend, you are sick of most places in -an incredibly short space of time,” said Agiropoulos, sarcastically, -nettled by the coolness, of which he wanted a monopoly. - -“Possibly.” - -“I hope you will be civil to Ehrenstein to-morrow. Play him the -‘Mélodiés Hongroises.’ His mother was a Hungarian, and he adored her. -The ‘Mélodiés’ will send him into Paradise.” - -“I am not conscious of a desire to procure him that happiness. What the -devil do I care about his mother or himself? Either the fellow knows -music or he doesn’t.” - -Agiropoulos was speeding on his way to Athens while Rudolph was sitting -in the Natzelhuber’s undecorated parlor, listening to the magic -“Mélodiés Hongroises,” wherein enchanting dance and melody spring -exultingly out of subtle waves of variation, their impetuous joy -broken suddenly by sharp notes of pathos and vague yearning. Music so -gloriously rendered thrilled him into instantaneous love, and his soul -was lost irretrievably in exquisite sound. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE RESULT OF THE BARON’S ADVICE. - - -It was the eve of Madame Jarovisky’s ball, and nearly a week had -elapsed since Rudolph Ehrenstein had permitted himself the painful -pleasure of a visit to Mademoiselle Natzelhuber. He was young and -impressionable enough for a week to work a rapid change in him under -novel circumstances. He mixed freely in the distinguished diplomatic -circles of Athens, had been with the Mowbray Thomases to Tatoi, played -cricket with Vincent, whose English-French was a source of piquant -amusement to him, his own being irreproachable, played tennis and drank -tea with the rowdy American girls his aunt disapproved of, and was -accompanied by Miss Eméraude Veritassi when he charmed a small audience -with Raff’s _Cavatina_. The Baron von Hohenfels expressed himself -delighted with his nephew’s success, praised his air of distinction and -reserve, wished him a little less shy, however, and implored him to -cultivate the virtues of tobacco. - -“It gives a man a certain tone to be able to appreciate a good cigar,” -he explained, airily. “You are improving undoubtedly. Your behaviour -with Mademoiselle Veritassi last night was quite pretty and gallant. I -may mention, Rudolph, that neither your aunt nor I have any objection -to Eméraude Veritassi. Her style is good, and her French--well, should -you think of diplomacy by and bye, you would have no reason to be -ashamed of it. She is about the only Greek girl I know who looks as if -she had been brought up in Paris. Yes, by all means cultivate her, if -you are disposed that way, though perhaps it would be wiser to choose -your wife at home.” - -Rudolph blushed and smiled pleasantly. - -“Is it not rather premature to talk of marriage for me, uncle?” he -asked, quizzically. - -“Quite so. Still, it is possible for a fellow at your age to get -disagreeably entangled, and a respectable marriage, you know, is always -preferable to that. Amuse yourself, by all means; I would not restrict -you in that line. You must be a man of the world, and gallantry is the -very finest education. As I said before, in the regular way, there is -no objection to Mademoiselle Veritassi, but for all irregular purposes, -stick to the married women, my dear boy. Become a favourite with -them, and study an attitude of delicate audacity, a kind of playful -_rouerie_.” - -All this was Hebrew to Rudolph, but he took care not to press his uncle -for an explanation. Instead, he went upstairs, and donned attire less -ostentatious and theatrical than the forest coat and long boots. In a -faultless suit of navy-blue he was seen an hour later upon the Patissia -Road walking towards the Platea Omonia, and a brisk pace brought him to -Photini’s door. It was opened by Polyxena, as rough and untidy as ever, -who jerked her thumb towards the stairs, and growled:-- - -“You’ll find her upstairs.” - -Rudolph’s heart beat apprehensively as he slowly mounted and knocked -outside Photini’s door, which he opened gingerly after a loud “come in.” - -“Oh, it is you!” the Natzelhuber exclaimed, more graciously than usual. -“I thought it was that fool come for her lesson. Sit down, and let me -look at you.” - -Rudolph obeyed and smiled enigmatically, as he steadily met her lambent -gaze. - -“What have you been doing with yourself since I saw you?” she demanded, -imperiously. - -“Nothing in particular,” said Rudolph. - -“Humph! Your face does not show that.” - -“May I ask what it shows to your glance of investigation?” - -“You are growing impertinent and fatuous. Have you been studying the -excellent style of our friend Agiropoulos?” - -Rudolph drew himself up proudly. He, a high bred Austrian, to be -compared with a vulgar Greek merchant! He drew his aristocratic brows -into an angry frown, and raised an irreproachable hand to his fair -moustache: - -“I cannot think that anything in me could remind you of Monsieur -Agiropoulos.” - -Photini came over, and stood in front of him with folded arms, calmly -surveying him; then she leant forward, and placed her hands on his -shoulders, laughing. - -“They have doubtless been telling you what a fine fellow you are, and, -my dear child, they have been telling you a most infernal lie.” - -Rudolph burst out laughing, and took her two hands into his, which he -held in a gentle clasp. - -“Mademoiselle, you are a very extraordinary woman. Some people might -say you are rude. I hardly think the word applies to you. I don’t know -what you are.” - -“Mad,” said Photini, drawing him to her and kissing him. - -Rudolph went red and white, and started back as if he had been shot. -No woman, except his mother, had ever kissed him, and the experience -coming to him thus, suddenly and unsought, filled him with an -inexplicable anger and pain. Without a word Photini walked straight to -the piano, and the silence waved into the unfathomable loveliness of -Chopin’s “Barcarolle.” - -It was a perfect apology. It must be confessed, this woman so dreadful -of speech was delicately cognisant of the language of the soul. Had -she been playing for a lover, she could not have done better. But she -was scarcely conscious of love for Rudolph. Her thirty-five years of -wretched hilarity and miserable sadness had left her heart untouched -until now, but she was too proud to acknowledge even to herself the -steadily growing interest and yearning awakened in her by the innocent -eyes of a lad, and while she played she resolutely kept her face -averted from Rudolph’s. So she saw nothing of the varying emotions that -swept across it as the notes at her magic touch rose and fell. First -his eyes closed, then opened and rested upon her profile eagerly; a -feverish red burnt in his cheeks, and his breath came hurriedly. A -sense of ecstasy oppressed him, and he drew near her as if impelled by -a force independent of his control. She looked up, and saw that his -eyes were wet, and he burst out:-- - -“Oh, it is dreadful, I can’t bear it, but I love you!” - -Before she could make answer to this unflattering and anguished -declaration, the door opened, and Andromache Karapolos stood upon the -threshold. Rudolph moved hastily back, and met her glance of pleased -surprise with one of almost passionate gratitude. The spell and its -compelling influences had ceased with Photini’s last note, and now he -was only dreading the consequences of his insane avowal, and patiently -awaited the inevitable scene. - -But for the first time in her life, Photini showed an amiable front to -an intruder. She looked gently at Andromache, turned with a commanding -gesture to Rudolph, and stood for the girl to take her place at the -piano. Though wishing to escape, Rudolph felt that the words he had -just uttered laid him under a new obligation of obedience, and he went -and stood at the window, with his forehead pressed dejectedly against -the pane, looking down on the bright street, while he speculated -drearily on what was going to happen to him. - -Andromache’s slim brown fingers ran swiftly up and down the piano -several times before a word was uttered. Photini watched them -attentively, and then said, very graciously: - -“That is much better. But your thumb is still too exposed, and you sway -your body too much. You are not supposed to play from the waist. You -must give another week to scales, and then we’ll see about exercises.” - -Andromache rose, and said her brother was waiting downstairs for -her. Rudolph looked round at the sound of her voice, and thought her -prettier than before. - -“Why, Mademoiselle Veritassi would seem plain beside her,” he said to -himself, but his fastidious eyes, running over her dress found it -common and ill-cut. - -The March-violet eyes rested a moment on his, and were lovely indeed by -charm of dewy freshness and girlish timidity. Andromache blushed to the -roots of her hair, and the blush was reflected on the young man’s face. - -In her nervous tremour she dropped one of her gloves, which he hastened -to pick up, and when he handed it to her, they exchanged another glance -of mutual admiration, and blushed again more eloquently than before. -This short pantomime of two susceptible young creatures was unheeded by -Photini, who was tranquilly lighting a cigarette, and when Andromache -with a low inclusive bow and a soft “Καλἡ μἑγχ σας,” departed, Rudolph -stood in silence at the window to catch a glimpse of her down the -street. He saw her cross in the direction of the Academy with a tall -military man, in whose black uniform and crimson velvet collar, he -recognized an artillery officer. For some foolish undefined reason he -rejoiced in this evidence of respectability in her brother. - -“My dear child,” Photini began, when they were alone, “you made a -fool of yourself a moment ago. It is possible folly is your normal -condition,--I believe it is so with men of your stamp, but there -are degrees, and you passed the limitations when you made a very -uncomplimentary and absurd declaration to me just now.” - -She paused to continue smoking. Rudolph breathed a sigh of relief to -find he was not taken seriously, and felt himself a cad for that very -reason. What right has a man to trifle with such emotions, and then -rejoice that he is not taken seriously? Such inconsequence is surely -unworthy a gentleman. He stared at her humbly and imploringly. - -“See the advantages of smoking! One can hold one’s tongue,” Photini -went on, serenely. “And now, please remember that I am an ugly woman -of thirty-five, and you a handsome boy of twenty-one. I am old in evil -knowledge, you still in the shade of innocence, a very pleasing shade -as long as young men can be got to remain in it. You are an aristocrat, -and I am a woman of the people. You perceive, Ehrenstein, that we have -nothing in common, and now, go about your business. I have had more -than enough of you.” - -“Photini,” he protested, touched by her brusque magnanimity, “I have -perhaps failed as a gentleman, but it is true, I can’t help loving you, -though I admit that nothing but sorrow can come of such love.” - -“No, you don’t love me, you love my music. In heaven’s name, don’t make -a fool of yourself,” she roared. - -“But don’t you want me to come again, Photini?” - -“No, I don’t. Why should I?” - -“Is it possible to care for me a little?” he asked, sulkily. - -“You silly jackanapes! Why do you imagine I care for you?” - -“Because you kissed me,” Rudolph jerked out boldly. - -“And what if I did? There, I’ll kiss you again, and swear I don’t care -a rap for you,” she cried, half-laughing, and gathering his head into -her hands, she kissed his lips repeatedly. “Now be off, and don’t let -me see you come whimpering or stamping about this neighbourhood again.” - -She pushed him firmly out of the room, and ferociously slammed the door -after him. When she was alone, she flung up her arms spasmodically, and -cried:-- - -“Ouf! the fool! I’ve saved him, and I believe he is grateful to me. -Poor Photini! You ugly, forsaken old soul, to love a yellow-headed -boy at your time of life, with nothing in the world to recommend him, -not even his stupid yellow head.” With that she poured herself out a -generous glass of brandy, and drank it off at a draught. - -Poor Photini! - -That afternoon Ehrenstein met the Greek poet in Stadion Street, and -they turned and walked together towards Constitution Square, where they -sat down at one of the numerous tables outside the Cafés and drank -black coffee. Captain Miltiades passed, looking more military and more -fierce than ever, twirling a ferocious moustache and roving a killing -dark blue eye in search of feminine victims. He stopped to exchange a -few words with the Greek poet, and was introduced to Rudolph. - -“Has he not a very pretty sister who is taking lessons from -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber?” Rudolph asked, afterwards. - -“Who? Karapolos? I never heard of a sister. I always thought he was an -antique orphan. No one knows where he lives. He is the most abominable -fraud in Athens,--a kind of military clown, but a brave soldier for all -that, in spite of his _blagues_.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -MADAME JAROVISKY’S BALL. - - -It was a mystery to the Karapolos how Madame Jarovisky had discovered -the existence of Andromache. It was customary for her to invite the -glorious and elegant warrior, with whom she had formed pleasing -relations at the Palace entertainments. Besides, Hadji Adam, the King’s -_aide-de-camp_ and the very particular friend of Captain Miltiades, -generally stipulated that his heroic comrade should have the right -of entrance into all the distinguished houses of Athens. But even -Hadji Adam knew nothing about his family, and how did it come that -the Desposine Andromache Karapolos received a card of invitation for -Madame Jarovisky’s great ball given in honour of an English Cabinet -Minister? Julia the elder was not invited, nor was little Themistocles, -the bank clerk. Another remarkable circumstance was the lateness of -the invitation. It came on the eve of the ball. Andromache’s mother -and Julia were strongly of opinion that no notice should be taken of -an attention conveyed with such strange discourtesy. They did not know -Madame Jarovisky, and no chaperon had been invited to accompany the -younger Miss Karapolos. But Andromache was wild with desire to go. She -had often glanced in marvelling admiration at the Jarovisky palace of -marble and statues and colonnades, though she was virtuous enough to -lower her eyes before the undraped statues of the terrace which she -regarded as scandalous. And now that the chance of entering its bronzed -gates and seeing the glories of its interior was presented to her, she -was passionately resolved to go. Miltiades was fond of Andromache, and -was easily persuaded into seconding her resolution. The head of the -house is chaperon enough for any girl, he explained to his weak mother, -and it was probably through Mademoiselle Natzelhuber that Madame -Jarovisky had learned of Andromache’s existence, which accounted for -the lateness of the invitation. - -So it was decided that Andromache should go. The excitement put -Maria into a good humour, and she was heard to sing, while starching -and ironing white petticoats, the Captain’s evening shirt and lace -bodices. A little dressmaker was hired for the day, who at breakfast -sat opposite the warlike Miltiades, and blushed when Themistocles -filled her glass with wine. Everyone laughed and spoke together at -table, except the dressmaker and Themistocles, who regarded it as a -personal slight that he had not been included in the invitation, and -this insult added to the thought of the forbidden paradise in the next -street, more than ever convinced him that there was nothing for him but -to emigrate to England. After breakfast, instead of showing himself -upon Constitution Square, he retired into his own room, and his violin -dismally expressed his dissatisfaction in asthmatic strains supposed to -be Schubert’s. - -Then what running about for the women, what screaming of reiterated -explanations, hysterical adjurations, differences of opinion as to the -looping of a flounce, the draping of a fold, the selection of a ribbon -or a flower! Maria was, of course, president of the house-parliament; -though her vision was frequently impeded by the tangled locks of hair -she found it so difficult to keep out of her black eyes. But the -warmest discussion has its end, and all longed-for hours eventually -arrive. When Themistocles arrived for dinner, he found he was the only -person insufficiently nourished upon the day’s excitement. Theodore -ministered to his wants, while all the women were in the girls’ chamber -robing Andromache. - -Very pretty she looked when dressed in cream muslin striped with -silk,--an exquisitely soft and dainty texture made at the Ergasterion -of Athens--trimmed with bows of crimson ribbon and charming Greek -lace. Her costume was inexpensive, and looked home-made, but its -very guilelessness was an effective setting to her extreme youth and -simplicity. A Greek girl, whatever her deficiencies, is never awkward -or vulgar, and the only suggestion Miltiades could offer in the way of -improvement, when he examined her critically, was the brushing off of -some of the powder which marred the fine olive of her face. Miltiades -himself was resplendent in his full-dress uniform, his _grande tenue_. -More than ever did he resemble the mythical slaughterer of those five -thousand wretched Turks; and such smiling and satisfied glory as his -was calculated to depress and fill with alarm the breast of the Sultan -himself. - -Andromache was muffled in a woollen shawl, and taking the arm of her -gallant escort, they went out into the cold blue air. They walked -gingerly down the slanting and unpaved street, dreading to splash their -evening shoes in the running streams over which they were obliged to -jump every time a fresh street broke theirs horizontally. When they -reached the even pavement of University Street, behind Hansen’s lovely -marble Academy, outlined sharply against the pure dark sky above the -perfumed patch of foliage and flowers between it and the University, -their footsteps rang out with a loud echo, Andromache’s high heels -tapping the stones aggressively. Already a line of carriages was drawn -up outside the Jarovisky’s palace. It was the largest ball given at -Athens for years. Every one who was not in mourning was there, and most -people who were. - -Dr. and Madame Jarovisky received their guests at the head of the chill -and magnificent hall. When Miltiades appeared, Dr. Jarovisky shook -his hand most cordially and asked after his wife and children, shook -hands with Andromache, and remarked that he never saw her looking so -well, and was delighted to renew his acquaintance with her. Miltiades -telegraphed her a glance of warning against any expression of surprise, -and explained to her afterwards that Dr. Jarovisky never remembered any -of his guests. Madame Jarovisky feebly expressed the pleasure it gave -her to see Miss Andromache Karapolos, and hoped she would enjoy herself. - -The rooms were crowded, but in spite of heavy perfumes and laughter and -light, they were freezingly cold, built as they were of marble, with -porphyry pillars and mosaic floors. Andromache shivered a little, and -looked anxiously around while her brother twirled his moustache, and -beamed a fatuous smile upon the groups he swiftly scanned. - -“See, Miltiades, there is Hadji Adam flirting with Madame von -Hohenfels. How handsome he is! and how distinguished she.” - -“Madame von Hohenfels is what the French call _grande dame_. I was -introduced to her nephew yesterday. He is a very pretty fellow. I -daresay he is somewhere about.” - -They entered another room, and here Andromache’s quick glance singled -out a noticeable group of laughing and chattering young persons. -Mademoiselle Eméraude Veritassi, beautifully arrayed in costly glory -from Worth, was its centre, and round her hovered or buzzed like bees, -Miss Mary and Master John Perpignani, Agiropoulos, the Greek poet, the -young ladies of the American Legation, Ehrenstein and Vincent Mowbray -Thomas. At that moment Rudolph happened to look round and met the -March-violet eyes, bewitching in the eloquent delight of recognition. -She blushed prettily, and an answering blush asserted sympathy on his -boyish face. He broke away from the gay crowd, and saluted Captain -Karapolos with insinuating cordiality. - -If there is a thing the Greek has, at all hours, and in all places, -at the disposal of his fellow-man, it is his hand. He shakes hands at -every possible pretext, or he embraces. How he would express himself if -that method of greeting were suddenly suppressed by act of Parliament, -it is not for me to say, but I imagine he would pay a fine rather than -forego the habit. Miltiades, after a jaunty military salute, of which -he was equally profuse, held out a white-gloved hand, and then stood -with the other gracefully reposing on his hip to discourse to Rudolph -in unintelligible French. - -“Vous êtes bien, Monsieur,” he began cheerfully. - -“Mais oui,” responded Rudolph, smiling at Andromache to whom he -bowed deferentially. “Est-ce que vous voudriez bien me presenter à -Mademoiselle votre sœur?” - -“Monsieur Rudolph Ehrenstein; Andromache--ma sœur,” said Karapolos, -with a flourish, and then discovered that he had come to an end of his -French. He smiled largely, and his teeth and handsome eyes, so like his -sister’s, did duty for speech. - -And while he was ogling Miss Mary Perpignani, to whose satisfactory -dowry he aspired, audacious Rudolph had asked and obtained Andromache’s -first quadrille, and furthermore secured her for the cotillon, which, -of course, Miltiades would conduct according to custom. - -“Vous me ferez l’honneur, Monsieur, de me confier Mademoiselle votre -sœur?” Rudolph asked. - -“Certainement,” assented Karapolos, delighted at the unexpected -remembrance of a new word. “Je--je, comment--tell him, Andromache, I -want to dance myself,” he burst out in Greek. - -Andromache translated his wish, and as she spoke, with an expression of -shy and charming deprecation, dark and light blue eyes held each other -in fascinated gaze. Rudolph’s heart, as fresh and innocent as hers, -began to comport itself in a very irregular fashion, and his frame -thrilled under a sense of exquisite emotion. Her French was a little -halting, and he was obliged to choose the easiest words for her, but -how pleasant it was to hear her speak? The dancers were taking their -places for the first quadrille, and Rudolph offered Andromache his arm. -He reddened with pleasure when he looked down and saw her little hand -in a white silk glove on his coat sleeve. From that moment he thought -silk much prettier than Suède or kid. There was something birdlike and -irresponsible in the awakening passion of these two young creatures. -Neither dreamed of struggling against it or of consequences, but simply -fluttered towards each other with lovely glances of sympathy and candid -admiration. - -The Baroness von Hohenfels, talking to the Right Honourable Samuel -Warren, M. P., raised her gold _face à main_ to scrutinise the dancers -casually, and saw her nephew with his dowdy and much too pretty -partner. She frowned a little, noting how completely absorbed he was -and on what an intimate footing the young pair already appeared to be, -and looked round in search of Mademoiselle Veritassi, whom she saw -dancing with the amiable Agiropoulos. She beckoned imperiously to her -husband, who obediently left the side of the English Minister’s wife, -and courteously begged to be enlightened as to the cause of her signal. - -“Who is that girl Rudolph is dancing with?” - -“You surely don’t expect to find me posted up in the names and -parentage of all the young ladies of Athens?” laughed the easy baron, -looking round. - -“Have you eyes in your head? Can’t you see that they are flirting?” -protested the baroness. - -“He certainly is greatly taken up with her. I fear, my dear, instead -of being the muff I believed him, your nephew is an inveterate flirt. -But I’ll inquire about her.” - -The baron went back to Mrs. Mowbray Thomas, and the popular poet -passing, the baroness touched his arm with her fan, and smiled him an -arch invitation. - -“M. Michaelopoulos,” she asked, taking his arm, “you know everybody in -Athens, don’t you?” - -The poet modestly deprecated any such pretension. - -“Well, at least you can tell me who that exceedingly attractive young -lady is my nephew is dancing with.” - -The poet glanced down the room and singled out the couple. - -It was impossible for the dullest observer to mistake the language of -eyes that constantly dwelt on each other, and the foolish alacrity with -which their hands met and clasped in the decorous dance. - -“To my eternal desolation, Madame la Baronne, I must admit my -ignorance. The young lady is, as you observe, charming--a little -provincial, perhaps, clearly not of our world, but charming, very -charming. I entreat you, Madame, to note the _naïveté_ and candour of -her--how shall we name it? _entrainement?_ the first pressure of the -dangerous influence upon tranquil maidenly pulses.” - -“Confine yourself to prose, my friend, for the moment, and if you obey -me, discover for me her parentage, position, etc.” - -“Madame has to command, and I fly to obey her. I conjecture Monsieur -Ehrenstein’s latest flame to be a little impossible Athenian, living -the Gods know where and how.” - -“Latest?” cried the baroness, with a look of displeased inquiry. - -“Ah! it is to see that Madame’s great mind soars in the empyrean of -diplomatic considerations or upon ground more ethereal still. Her -delicate ears do not catch an echo of the vulgar gossip upon which -grosser ears are fed.” - -“I have requested you, M. Michaelopoulos, to discourse to me in prose. -What is the vulgar gossip you refer to?” - -The poet looked chill, and said, with brutal directness: - -“My faith! Madame, your interesting nephew is thought to be the lover -of that dainty morsel of womanhood, the Natzelhuber.” - -Madame von Hohenfels frowned, and then laughed. - -“You forget, Rudolph is noble.” - -“I have not remarked that nobility is specially fastidious in such -matters. Women! Well, that is frankly a department in which there is no -accounting for tastes, and good blood shows as pretty an eccentricity -as any other.” - -The English statesman was approaching, and the poet walked away with an -expression of countenance clearly indicating an intention to remember -the baroness’s snub. The dance was over, and in the pause which ensued, -Madame Jarovisky, mindful of Rudolph’s information that Andromache was -a very promising pupil of Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, politely requested -her to favour the company with a specimen of her powers. - -“Your mistress has not yet arrived,” she added by way of encouragement, -“and you can take advantage of her absence.” - -Rudolph warmly seconded Madame Jarovisky, and thus flatteringly -besought, Andromache suffered herself to be led by the young Austrian -to the grand piano. At first she was terribly nervous, and the notes -faltered and shook unsteadily beneath her fingers, but discovering -that small attention was really paid to her, and drinking in courage -and nerve from Rudolph’s pleasant glances of admiration, she gradually -acquired a firmer touch, and played fairly well, with brilliancy and -just expression, a dance of Rubinstein’s. She was more than half-way -through her performance, when a whisper ran through the rooms:--“The -Natzelhuber!” - -The Cabinet Minister immediately adjusted his eyeglass, and held -his sharp, heaven-aspiring nose in a beatific pose that denoted an -expectation of diversion. Madame von Hohenfels smiled blandly, well -pleased that somebody else should have the onerous charge and torture -of entertaining the great woman. Photini was marshalled fussily up -the room by anxious little Dr. Jarovisky, himself a blaze of medals -and decorations, while his wife advanced with an air of pathetic -deprecation and prayer, as if by such feeble weapons the thunder of -this female Jove might best be averted. Phontini did not meet her -hand, but just glanced at her in calm disdain, and nodded a serene, -impersonal and inclusive gaze around, walked to a distant mantelpiece -and placidly took her stand there. - -“Who is that playing?” she asked of Dr. Jarovisky. - -“Really, Mademoiselle, I--I--but wait, I will ask my wife,” the doctor -hastened to say, and in his hurry to satisfy the inexorable artist, -stumbled over a half dozen chairs and guests before he reached his -perturbed wife. - -“Calliope, she wants to know who is playing?” - -“A pupil of hers--Andromache Karapolos,” said Calliope. - -Dr. Jarovisky stumbled back in the same awkward and nervous fashion, -and said, excitedly: - -“You will be charmed, I am sure, Mademoiselle, to learn that the young -lady who is delighting us all is a pupil of yours.” - -“A pupil of mine, sir?” interrogated Photini, imperiously. - -“Mais, oui, ja, ja, Ναἱ,” cried Dr. Jarovisky, in his fright exploding -into a multiplicity of tongues. “A Desposine Andromache Karapolos,” and -he smiled pleadingly. - -“Oh, indeed,” said Photini, with that desperate calm of hers that -invariably preluded a thunderstorm. - -She rose, and followed by her shaken host, walked slowly down the -room with the face of a sphinx. When she came near the piano, Rudolph -looked up, saw her, bowed and smiled in anxious conciliation. She -neither returned his bow nor his smile, but came behind Andromache, and -deliberately dealt that inoffensive maiden a sound box on the ear. - -“May I ask who gave you leave to murder Rubinstein for the benefit of a -lot of idiots worse than yourself?” she cried. - -Pressing her palm to the outraged cheek, now crimson from the blow, -Andromache turned round with a face held between indignation and -shocked fear. Her tongue refused to give voice to the piteous words -that rushed to it, and tears of wounded pride and shame drowned the -March violets. - -“C’est trop fort, Mademoiselle,” Rudolph exclaimed, with a flame of -masterful passion in his eyes. - -“Vraiment?” retorted Photini, coolly. “Occupez-vous de vos affaires, -Monsieur, et laissez les miennes,” and the utter vileness of her accent -seriously imperilled the dignity of her speech and deportment. “As for -you,” she continued in Greek, turning to Andromache, “you will be so -good as to leave Rubinstein, Ehrenstein and every other ’stein alone, -and content yourself with scales and exercises for the next year.” - -In spite of her cruel and inadmissible behaviour, it was impossible not -to feel some sympathy with the just anger of a severe and conscientious -artist, though one naturally wished it had sought a less explosive -outlet; and it was equally impossible not to recognise that such -severity, in more measured and human form, is very salutary for the -inefficient and abnormally rash young amateur. But of course all direct -sympathy was for the moment concentrated on poor Andromache. Rudolph -followed her, looking like a quarrelsome knight, as he stood guard over -insulted girlhood, until her brother rushed forward to carry her home; -and swore to himself, with petulant emphasis, that never again would he -address a word of civility to the woman he mentally apostrophised as a -monster and a fiend. - -“Ne pleurez pas, Mademoiselle,” he cried, feverishly. “C’est qui doit -avoir honte. Pour vous, vous devez la mepriser. Dieu sait si vous en -avez le droit.” - -“Laissez-moi, Monsieur. Je ne puis rien dire,” said Andromache in a -choking voice, and seeing Miltiades coming towards her with a furious -stride and the kind of look he must have worn when he sent those five -thousand Turks to Paradise, she rushed to him and gathered her fingers -round his arm convulsively. But a warrior and hero like Miltiades could -not expect to appreciate the dignity of a pacific departure. With his -sister upon his arm he walked to the spot where Photini was seated, -listening to the bantering expostulations of Agiropoulos leaning over -the back of her chair. She looked impassively at the angry face of the -captain, then at the shamed and drooping head of Andromache, but said -nothing. - -“Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhuber,” said Miltiades, with a curt bow, -“I have the honour to announce to you that my sister will in future -discontinue her music lessons.” - -“And what difference do you think that will make to me?” retorted -Photini. “It will be her loss.” - -“If you were a man I should know how to deal with you. But as you are -only a woman, I can but despise you.” - -“If it gives you any satisfaction, I am happy to have afforded you the -occasion.” - -With this little passage of arms, in which Miltiades may be said to -have come off second best, the Captain and his sister retreated, -proudly stopping to receive the apologies of Madame and Dr. Jarovisky, -and left the field to the enemy. - -“A very curious scene indeed,” remarked the Right Honourable Samuel -Warren, M. P., to Mrs. Mowbray Thomas. “It is most refreshing to obtain -these picturesque glimpses of foreign manners.” - -“They’ll have to drop asking that woman into society,” said the English -Ambassador. “She is downright dangerous. I never heard of such a thing -in my life--striking a pretty, inoffensive girl in a drawing-room.” - -“We are perhaps a little insular and restricted, and our drawing-room -life is insufficiently supplied with excitement and surprise,” rejoined -the Cabinet Minister. - -It was some time before the guests fell into the ordinary social -groove. Whether they danced, or chatted, or walked about, they managed -to keep a careful and apprehensive eye upon the artist who had so -unexpectedly upset the universal equilibrium. But Photini tranquilly -ate the ice Agiropoulos brought her, indifferent to the general gaze -fixed thus upon her, called for a glass of cognac, and then, with a -look of bland defiance at Rudolph, who stood leaning sulkily against -the wall, announced her intention of playing once only, and then taking -her departure. Rudolph neither heeded the purport of her movement nor -the direct challenge of her amber glance. His thoughts were away with -Andromache, telling him that she was prettier and sweeter than any one -in these crowded rooms, wondering if she were crying, and resolving to -meet her brother somewhere the next day and to obtain permission to -call on her. Photini he simply loathed. - -But ah! good heavens, what a horrible test of his hatred! There was -that tantalising witch actually playing at him the fatal irresistible -“Mélodiés Hongroises.” He closed his eyes, not to be tempted to look at -her with softened emotion; steeled his heart against her that it should -not melt upon such sound; but he did not shut his ears. And when their -eyes met perforce, there was no longer anger in his, and there was -triumph in hers. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -A RANDOM SHOT. - - -Dr. Selaka was a proud and hopeful man on the morning he saw Gustav -Reineke depart for Syra, in charge of the amiable captain of the -_Sphacteria_. On his return from the Piræus, where he had bidden him -farewell, he bethought himself of the duty of inquiring into the -identity of this mysterious personage. He consulted Dr. Galenides, -who in turn consulted the German Consul and was referred then to -the Baron von Hohenfels. Herr Gustav Reineke was vaguely known upon -learned repute, but of his antecedents, parentage, means, and social -and domestic condition, no information could be accurately obtained. -Assertion was winged upon surmise, a very untenable resource with -foreigners. There might be a Frau Reineke and a domestic circle in -the background, and there might not. Of shadier relations no note was -taken. In olden days, we know, science went hand in hand with sharp -poverty--clearly an undesirable sequel to Inarime’s protected girlhood. -With such a possibility ahead, Dr. Selaka recognised the rashness of -arresting the eye of hope upon this particular marriage, despite the -depressing reflection that his maniacal brother would infinitely prefer -to support an archæological son-in-law, than see Inarime gracefully -enthroned above Athenian matrons, a jewel in solid, unlearned gold. - -“Stavros is right. Better have the girl up to Athens, and play her -beauty upon the susceptibilities of our friend Mingros.” But it was a -minor question. His attention was engrossed by parliamentary strife -and the coming election. This was but the preliminary of ministerial -glory. Place him upon the tribune, Hellas would shake with the thunder -of his voice, and Europe hold down her abashed head in the face of -a violated Treaty of Berlin, and an unenlarged Greek frontier. He -mentally apostrophised Europe, and fell to speaking of himself, and -gesticulating wildly, as he walked from the station in Hermes Street to -inspect the new house he was building close to the Queen’s Hospital. -The work was progressing fairly, and as he made a bid for luck by -sacrificing a cock before the first stone was laid, he felt healthily -free from apprehensions of any sort. Dr. Galenides was coming out of -the Hospital as he turned to go, and the friends stopped to discuss the -situation. - -“Stavros grows more irrepressible,” said Dr. Galenides, with a curious -smile. “He wields his pen not as a sword but as a whip to lash us all, -friends and enemies.” - -“All bluster. He likes to be thought volcanic,” laughed Selaka, easily. - -“Perhaps he has no objection to a reputation a trifle more serious,” -Galenides suggested, with a look ostensibly blank. - -Dr. Selaka glanced sharply round at him. - -“Do you distrust him?” - -“It is a wise saying--trust nobody. We are all liable to change.” - -“What change do you foresee in Stavros?” - -“A change you will hardly appreciate,” Dr. Galenides replied, shutting -up his lips with a secretive air. - -“Turncoat?” - -“Well, well, report speaks queerly at times. Had you been wise, you -would have hesitated to compromise yourself upon pressure of his. But -it is customary for monarchs to yield to the blandishments of their -ministers. This understanding is the basis of the throne. Yours, my -friend, is not stable.” - -“You forget that I am a monarch of a realm that knows neither ministry -nor change. By the way, I sent that young man off to Tenos to-day.” - -“That’s another bold stroke. You are too fond of random shots. Beware -of bringing down the wrong bird.” - -Selaka flushed darkly, and frowned in a threatening manner. - -“You have the merit of making yourself understood.” - -“I always endeavour to do so, Constantine. Good-bye, before we quarrel. -Come and dine with me this evening.” - -The doctors shook hands perfunctorily. Selaka was profoundly troubled -by these hints against the political constancy of his friend and -adviser. He had sagacity enough to believe that Galenides would not -speak without some justification for his doubts. It was widely known -that Galenides was in the confidence of the Minister. Zeus! Could Oïdas -have bought him over? - -He kept a keen lookout for any casual evidence of disloyalty or -coldness. For some days depression lay heavily on his spirits, and a -telegram from Pericles announcing the safe arrival of the stranger, -only temporarily lifted the gloom. - -The week was spent in canvassing on his own account, and everywhere he -met with proofs of his follower’s remissness on his behalf. He taxed -Stavros with faithlessness, and his chequered feelings were promptly -whipped back into confidence by the other’s cordiality and grave -assurance.--He desert a friend! Might the soul of his father appear to -him that night, and announce eternal perdition to him, if he could be -guilty of such meanness! Might hell’s flames encompass him, and the -remainder of his days be in shadow! He thumped his chest violently, -showed by a crimson cheek the wound upon his honour, and the flame of -resentment was in his tawny eyes. - -Dr. Selaka was convinced, and apologised. Remorse held his glance -averted from that of his wronged friend, so gave the other an -opportunity for looking slyly sideways at him, and pursing his lips -forward to strangle the perfidious smile about them. - -In that evening’s edition of the “New Aristophanes,” there was a -sensational announcement that the editor ardently desired to explain to -the Athenians the motives of a change of policy, and he considerately -gave them _rendez-vous_ on the following Sunday afternoon at the Odeon -in Minerva Street. - -Selaka was alarmed to the verge of unreason, and found no comfort in -an enthusiastic letter received that morning from Pericles, expressing -complete satisfaction with Reineke, and his conviction that he was -in every way worthy of Inarime. Is it human to be interested in -the marriage of a niece when signs of storm are visible upon the -political horizon? But it was still possible that a change of policy -in Stavros meant no defection upon the question of the mayoralty. All -he craved was the lawyer’s help to that post of civic honour, and in -parliamentary matters he was free as a weathercock. - -There was something so irresistibly comic and original in the audacious -proposal of Stavros, that hardly a male in the town failed to put in -an appearance at the Odeon. The siesta was cut short, and at half-past -three numbers of black-coated civilians were crossing the Platea -Omonia, where the afternoon band was playing in front of the Café -Charamis. All the tables were speedily vacated, with empty coffee cups -to speak of the unwonted evasion. The band went on playing to the -nurses and babies, over whom a soldier or two mounted guard. - -The Odeon was crowded, and many had to content themselves with being -packed closely in the passage, whence a second-hand knowledge of the -proceedings could be obtained. - -Agiropoulos, always on the alert for surprise and excitement, was -there, chatting audibly with the glorious Miltiades. The poet looked on -with a casual, contemptuous glance, which clearly expressed his opinion -that these Athenians were so very provincial and absurd. - -“Absurd? Yes,” ejaculated Agiropoulos, aggressively scanning the -assembly through his eyeglass. “That completes their interest.” - -“By the soul of Hercules! that fellow they call the King of Tenos is -monstrous,” muttered the poet. - -“Because he presents the front of a credulous Greek?” - -“Because he is a damned idiot.” - -Here their flattering comments were interrupted by the appearance of -Stavros upon the stage. There was lively promise of what the French -would call “une séance à sensation,” and all eyes were fastened -curiously upon the lawyer and recreant politician. As for his views, -we will not indicate them, nor attempt to reproduce his words. The -evolution he attempted to accomplish and gracefully explain might -fitly be described less delicately upon non-political ground, but the -atmosphere is everything. - -Stavros was tightly buttoned in a frock coat, as became a legal -deputy. A semi-humorous, wholly false smile ran along his lips, and -his audacious eyes twinkled pleasantly with appreciation of his -difficulties. He saw Selaka, and he nodded deprecatingly, his smile -growing sweet and unsteady. And then, with a preparatory sentence or -two, he launched out on the sea of empty eloquence. He glided fluently -over trivialities, and lost his listeners in a fog of vague ideas, -stringing grandiose expressions with an abominable readiness, until -weariness sat upon the spirit of sense and begat regret for the wisdom -of silence. Alas! this is a wisdom the modern races are unwilling to -acquire. The wordy eloquence of the parliamentarian delights depraved -taste here as elsewhere, and as long as Stavros talked grandly of -Europe, the Treaty of Berlin, the enlargement of the Greek frontier, -the future grasp of Constantinople, he was quite able to drown his own -particular villainy with these sprays of aspiration. Some might think -him untrue to his political principles, but, after all, what principles -could any honest politician have but the good of his country? It had -been clearly demonstrated to him that his dear particular friend, Dr. -Selaka, the distinguished member for Tenos, was an unfit candidate for -the Mayoralty, and that the election of Kyrios Oïdas would redound to -the honour and glory of Athens. - -“How much has he paid you?” Selaka roared, jumping to his feet, and -glaring at the orator. - -“Come, Stavros, name the sum,” was shouted from the body of the hall. - -Stavros reddened faintly, but he faced the insult with an imperturbable -air, dismissing it in disdainful silence. He maundered on, outrageously -displaying his conviction that men will swallow any amount of nonsense -from a public speaker. His speech was largely interspersed with such -sounding and significant words as “patriotism,” and “liberty,” the -glory of Greece, duty to his constituents, and the good of Athens, and -wound up by protesting that the eye of Europe was anxiously fixed upon -the coming election, and it behoved the Athenians to stand upon their -honour. - -This farrago was followed by loud applause, and Agiropoulos and -the poet forced their way out of the hall to enjoy a hearty laugh. -Agiropoulos was satirical, and drew a moving picture of Europe -trembling upon the issue of the contest between Oïdas and Stavros. The -poet turned it into rough verse, and both exploded again in roars of -appreciative mirth. - -“All the same, he is a villain, that Stavros.” - -“A very clever fellow,” protested Agiropoulos, “and noticeably for -sale. I don’t blame a man for making the best of his vices and gilding -them for exposure.” - -Selaka was coming out, in voluble altercation with the great Miltiades. -The captain looked majestically indignant, and frowned with dreadful -purpose. The Deputy shook his fist back towards the hall, thundered, -vociferated, and clamored frantically for vengeance. - -“There is nothing for it, my friend, but a duel,” the captain insisted. -“You must fight him, positively.” - -“I will fight him, yes. I, Constantine Selaka, will mangle, murder, -shoot him.” - -This wrench of wounded trust was more than the wretched man could bear. -Agiropoulos took malicious interest in his raving and ranting. He -drew near and, by a sympathetic remark, put a point upon his victim’s -sufferings. - -“By Zeus! I’ll shoot him, I will. I’ll riddle him with balls, and leave -his carcase food for the ravens.” - -“A very laudable intention on your part, Kyrie Selaka, and one that -every reasonable man will appreciate,” said Agiropoulos, winking at the -poet. - -“I have urged him to it,” Miltiades explained, heroically. “I am proud -to place myself in this delicate matter at the service of Dr. Selaka.” - -“It is an honour to know a gallant man and a hero like you, Captain -Karapolos,” Agiropoulos rejoined gravely. - -Miltiades touched his hat and bowed. His expression eloquently said: -“If it’s gallantry and heroism you’re in search of, you’ve come to the -right person.” - -The distraught doctor, walking between his friends, uttered many a -rash word, and no suggestion less than murder could appease his wrath. -That evening it was bruited round Athens that he had sent a challenge -to Stavros, and the town impatiently awaited the exciting results. - -Oïdas acted as second to Stavros. When the hour was fixed, he found his -principal plunged in the depths of despair. The lawyer and editor had -a very good notion of settling a quarrel with the pen and the tongue, -but when it came to a question of loaded pistols, capacity oozed out -through his finger-tips, and the sweat of mortal terror drenched his -brow. - -“If the thing should not go off properly?” he suggested. - -“Just hold it straight, and sight your target--like this,” Oïdas -explained, lifting the weapon. - -“Oh, oh! take care, Oïdas. Mind it doesn’t go off,” Stavros -supplicated, making a rush for the door. - -“You fool! It is not even loaded.” - -Stavros sat up all night to write miserable letters to his mother and -sisters at Constantinople, and heaped curses on the head of his frantic -enemy. The doctor fared hardly better. Deprived of the stimulating -society of his military friend, his spirits sank, his mind became -unhinged, and his aspect took a funereal hue. He sent an incoherent -missive to Pericles, and lay on his bed weeping and moaning. When -Miltiades and Agiropoulos aroused him next morning, his eyelids were -appalling to behold, and his effort at cheerfulness most ghastly. - -“A soldier never anticipates evil; is that not so, my brave Captain?” -laughed Agiropoulos. - -“Could not this matter be more pacifically arranged?” Selaka implored, -vainly endeavoring to conceal his fear in the mask of humanity. “It is -a sinful thing, my friends, to waste the blood of one’s fellow in a -private quarrel.” - -“If it comes to that,” said the ready Agiropoulos, “there is little to -choose between public and private quarrels. Indeed, more often than -not, wars have sprung from personal differences.” - -“But the law of every civilised country forbids duelling. Stavros and -I are both lawgivers--that is, we represent the Constitution, and are -bound to uphold it. It would be monstrous for two members of Parliament -to break the law,” pleaded Selaka, covering himself with a last poor -remnant of virtue. - -“We make the laws for others, never for ourselves. Hang it, man, -what’s liberty if it can’t provide us with a backstairs to the Temple -of Wrong, and can’t supply us with decent excuses for the evasion of -principles?” - -“There is an abominable looseness in yours,” remarked Selaka, in a -doleful attempt at indignation. - -“Come, Doctor,” Miltiades cried, clanking his spurs impatiently. -“Whatever the laws of the State may be, the laws of honour demand that -neither antagonist be a moment behind time. I have the pistols. Be so -good as to hurry your movements.” - -The doctor’s laggard air suggested the gathering of scattered limbs, -and the necessity for adjusting them before a march could be effected. -He looked ruefully at the impassible Agiropoulos, and resented his -impertinent eyeglass and his irreproachable toilet. He looked at the -stern and gallant captain, wavered, and fresh words of protest died in -his throat. - -“There is no fear of our being discovered and the affair stopped?” he -asked, in the tone of one to whom such a contingency would appear the -worst possible catastrophe. - -“Oh, none whatever,” Miltiades replied, reassuringly. - -“Oh!” ejaculated Selaka, with his heart in his boots. - -Through a similar hour of agony Stavros had passed, and awaited them -with a poor imitation of stoic bearing. - -“If anything happens, don’t forget to send this letter to my brother,” -Selaka entreated, as he tremblingly took the pistol from Miltiades. - -“God have mercy on my soul,” he murmured, firing with closed eyes, and -shot--not his enemy but himself. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -TENOS. - - -Like a roseate jewel in a circle of sapphire, with opal and mauve and -purple lights struck from it by the sun’s rays, lies Tenos upon the -deep and variable bosom of the Ægean waters. The Greek islands seen -from the sea are untiringly, unspeakably beautiful. Shadow and shine, -delicate hues and strong ones melt into an inextricable haze, as do -the sensations of the spectator, incapable of analysis as he watches -them. Energy oozes out through the finger-tips, the pulses quiet in -lazy delight, and the eye is filled for once with seeing. But the heart -is tranquil, unutterably content, and of speech there is no need. Here -at last is forgetfulness of sorrow and unrest. Here is the Eastern -sage’s dream realised, out of the reach of the envenomed shafts of -Fate,--floating indolently on a just stirred field of liquid blue, all -land and sky and water is a harmonious blending of the purest tints. -An infinitude of azure melts by tranquil degrees into milk-white; a -flame as bright as the heart of a pomegranate and blinding as unshaded -carmine, steals insidiously into the mountains of mauve, and changes -them to pink. - -But it is only when your barque draws nigh the sleepy little hollow of -a very sleepy little town, that you are shaken out of your exquisite -dream of Paradise. You see the harsh subdued contrast of the white -houses and their green jalousies, looking as if they had fallen asleep -in the Middle Ages, and nobody had remembered to awake them since,--a -break of dim barbaric life upon a background of desolate rocks and -empty mountain sides. Tenos is certainly not Paradise. It has a little -pier, and is a perfect maze of misshapen arches, and filthy lanes, -calculated to make the least fastidious stranger shudder in mingled -fear and disgust. There are unsavoury little cafés, outside which, at -all hours of the day, uncouth men, in dirty costumes, sit drinking and -smoking narghiles, which the café-clods carry from one to the other -with the long tubes between their lips, and then pass it to the lips -of their customers, who are vivaciously, and in passionate earnest, -discussing the affairs of Europe, while Providence and the womenfolk -are equal partners in the care of their own. - -But the town, as you skirt the lanes and arches that crowd down upon -the sea-line, has a charm exclusively its own. The tiny streets, when -they are paved, are paved with marble; and the houses on either side -have a cheerful conversational way of reaching across to shake hands -and exchange other amenities. An occasional palm tree lifts itself -up against the pure sky, as do the sails of wind mills, circled like -monster spiders webs. There is music in the trickling descent of the -mountain rills flowing over the marble and silver stones, in and out -of which the lizards, quick with life and the joy of the sunshine, -are ever coming and going. Then there is that singular construction, -the great shrine and pilgrimage of the Virgin of the East, a marble -building containing an expansive courtyard, a square of cloisters and -pilgrim-houses and a curious semi-Byzantine church, full of monstrous -treasures in gold and silver. Over the little town it towers in -glistening splendour, on the top of an inclined street, called “Virgin -Street,” enframed in silver olives and stately palms, and elegantly -paved outside and inside. The sloping way that runs from it right down -to the sea, might be ground of shining snow; it is moss embroidered, -and lit by the double geraniums that look like roses, and shaded by the -gloomy cypress. - -The isle of Tenos has pretensions of its own that it were idle for -us to dispute. It is divided into sixty-two villages, some of which -consist of three churches and four houses, and none show less than -three churches for the accommodation of every dozen inhabitants. -It will be satisfactory for the law-loving reader to learn that -these villages are apportioned into four mayoralties, governed by -one mayor and three justices of the peace, and that,--late crown of -representative existence, until M. Tricoupis cruelly brought in a bill -a year or two ago, which affiliated this “tight little island” with her -near neighbour Andros,--it actually sent three members to Parliament, -to look after its interests in King George’s Boulé at Athens. But all -glory is evanescent. It has been proved by history that it is idle to -place any trust in ministers or princes. Heaven knows why Tenos was -shorn of her parliamentary splendour, but alas! what is to be expected -of an economic minister, who prefers to consider the debts of Hellas -rather than her greatness, and who rashly decided that the work left -undone by three Members of Parliament may be efficiently accomplished -by one? The chief and most exasperating neglect of these late -illustrious persons is the formation of roads. There is not a single -road throughout the island, and only two level spots, the lovely plain -of Kolymvithra, and a quarter of a mile round the great purple Castro, -where once the Venetians held their seat of government, their solitary -fortress towering over the ruined little town of Borgo. This oasis of -pathway, in a desert of precipices and rocky altitudes, runs from the -top of the episcopal village of Xinara to the Greek monastery in the -village of San Francisco. It is unknown whether it is a remnant of -Venetian civilisation or of Turkish barbarism. But it is quite certain -that it is not the result of the crown of triple representatives Tenos -until lately wore. For the rest of the time, the rider is conducted by -an unmanageable mule, which indulges a lively weakness for the dizzy -verge of a ravine, along which he phlegmatically picks his way. From -almost perpendicular escarpments he drops into awful depths of rock and -furze and nettle, to trail his anxious and unhappy burden through the -musical bed of a torrent, and damage irretrievably a new pair of boots -by forcing them into an inconvenient affinity with rough walls and -jutting branches. - -After a while, when the frame becomes physically inured to the -sensational extremities of this kind of exercise, the traveller -discovers that, however dreadful the eccentricities of his mule, the -brute is very sure, if leisurely, and that though his position be -invariably a discomposing ascent or descent, no harm to his head or -his limbs will come of it. He gradually learns to take his troubles -philosophically, and look about him with perfect security. If it is -evening, he will note the heavenliest sky, and watch the soft mist burn -out the sapphire stealingly, while the strata of gold and rose fade -to pink and pearly opal. He will delight in the contrast of marble -mountain and purple thyme, cyclamens waving the meadows mauve, or -poppies covering them in scarlet flakes, and the tall daisies white -above the green like the foam of the sea, or anemones making a delicate -haze upon the landscape. There will be patches of white heath over the -hill curves, and poignant scents to stir the senses. And in and out -of the twilit gray of the olives, the darkening glance and sparkle of -the sea that is never out of sight,--now laughing through a network -of fig branches, then through the stiff spikes of the cactus, or the -graceful foliage of the plane, and white villages studding the orchards -and gardens like jewels. Over all hangs a strange note of happy -indifference, a rude naturalness that seeks no concealment and cares -not for shadow, hymns the smiles of blue water and the glory of the -sky; the sharp broad beauties of seashore and mountain and valley. - -The people are as simple as their landscape. Their lives are spent in -Arcadian ignorance and unaccomplished simplicity, as unconscious of the -evils of destitution as of the temptation of wealth. They dislike work, -and manage to shirk it, for every one owns a garden, a few fruit trees, -a goat, a pig, and perhaps a donkey. Dirty in their persons, their -houses are invitingly clean, and stand always open. - -Leaving the pleasing altitudes of a general survey, the reader is -invited to fix his gaze upon the little village of Xinara. Two things -strike the observer on entering its single street; the quantity of pigs -and unwashed children, and the signs of desolation and pre-existence -upon the blackened ruins in suggestive proximity with the comparatively -new houses and cottages. Near bright flowers and trellised verandahs, -stand broken walls with fig branches and weeds struggling through a -dismantled window, and curious Venetian symbols and legends wrought in -marble, now black with age and exposure, above the doors and windows -that have long since served the pigeons as convenient shelter. With the -pigs and poultry peeping through the wooden chinks, you see blocks of -marble crusted with gold and silver stones scintillating like flashes -of light. Beside a little glaring church, jaunty in its hideousness, -stand a row of houses burnt yellow and black, as if they had sustained -all the sieges of the Middle Ages, and pierced with pigeon holes like a -face with small-pox. - -The street is divided in two by a dark stone arch. Instead of the -provincial inn, there are three clubs, the blacksmith’s den, the -carpenter’s rude workshop, and the single general store. This is kept -by the village Lothario, Demetrius, a splendid fellow inclining to -corpulency, who wears a ring, a fez, and even goes to the length of -washing his hands and face and combing his hair once a day. One is not -a village Lothario for nothing. He is married, and hence he adds a -disappointed and hopeless air to his fascinating crimson tie whenever -he serves or chats with a woman under forty. But he draws the line at -forty. Kyria Demetrius has attained that respectable age. - -There is a fountain close by, where the women gather with red earthen -jars to draw water and indulge in cheerful social intercourse. It is -enclosed in a deep, damp arch, black and lichen-grown, with heavy beams -of wood supporting its roof, and higher up is the public laundry, a -tank with a sloping stone under it, where the laundresses scrub their -linen kneeling round, and converse in a dull undertone, varied by an -occasional tendency to scream. - -The houses are reached by a small flight of marble steps, and are -always confined to one floor with a pretty terrace outside, and -underneath is stabling for the mules and donkeys and other live stock. - -Beyond the archway lies the Catholic Cathedral, with the Bishop’s -Palace and Garden. The Church is of respectable size, but ugly, and -the Palace a dreary yellow building enlivened by the red tiles of the -pectinated roof. But the Bishop’s garden is charming. Goldfinches sing -in the Persian lilacs, and the rippling rills are never silent. In the -centre, there is a big stone tank and a sun-dial, and the oranges swing -like gold balls against the dark cypress. The valley upon which it -looks down is indeed a vale of delight. Olives paint a silver mist upon -the sunny landscape, and the fig and mulberry foliage lend it colour. -The girdling mountains of the neighbouring isles rise sharply against -the sky, and in and out their curves, opening upon the roseate shores -of Eubœa, breaks the sea like lapidescent blue, while through the -moist, grassy plain of Kolymvithra twists and swirls a vein of silver -water. The other side of the picture is a view of gloomy mountain, -bare grey rock and broken blocks of marble, rising above the tangle -of village gardens and trellised verandahs, with their showy display -of geraniums, carnations, roses and cactus drapery, from whose bed -of peaked leaves gleam large magenta stars. And here and there the -windmills make gigantic shadows upon the earth, flocks of pigeons shoot -like spots of illuminated snow through the sunlit air, and goats browse -amongst the scented furzes of the rocks, in easy companionship with -mules and kine. - -To reach the house of Pericles Selaka, on the other side of the -village, the traveller must make his own pathway with the loose stones -in the bed of a minute down-flowing stream. The water is crystal-clear, -and nothing can be more engaging than its gurgle and sparkle, but damp -feet are the inevitable consequence of its acquaintance. After a wet -passage through the torrent-bed, more or less torn and troubled by the -neighbourhood of blackberries, thorny hedgerows and tall reeds, he -will have to cut his way through a stony meadow, jump the low, loose -walls that separate each field, tangle his limbs in a multiplicity of -straggling branches and uncultivated growths, and trample ruthlessly -upon the pretty heads of the wild flowers. Every shade in foliage, -and every hue and odour in flower will charm him: the delicacy of the -plane sets off the polished darkness of the oleander and myrtle leaf, -the moist glitter of the maidenhair enriches the ferns that spread -themselves like fans upon the rocks, and along the vine-branches the -shooting leaves begin to uncurl. From the hedges there will be the song -of the linnets and goldfinches, and under them the musical lapping of -water against stones. - -Pericles Selaka’s house had originally belonged to a Venetian noble -family, and still showed the coat-of-arms wrought in marble on either -side of the gate, with a Latin inscription under a Venetian gondola. It -stood above the village, overlooking the two lovely valleys that divide -the flanks of the empty encircling hills,--hills bare of all but the -glory of their own tint, and the wavering clouds that sweep, soft and -shadowy, over the everlasting sunshine. Behind it the mighty Castro, -proud in its purple and grey desolation, bereft of its old splendour, -but still dominating the island like an acropolis, and in through the -openings of its crags, cleft in nature’s fury, runs the sea as through -a frame. The courtyard into which the gate opened was gemmed with -flowers. In the middle there was a well, and on either side a palm tree -with wooden seats under its shade. - -It was winter, so the vine-roofed verandah was a flood of sunshine. A -short flight of marble steps led to the terrace above, whence Syra, -Delos and Naxos might be seen, as well as the sloping fields that drop -into the torrent below, and Selaka’s orchard and vineyard, which, at -that time, showed pale, slim lines of green just opening upon the brown -earth. A watch-dog dozing in view, lazily observed the regular rise -and fall of the digger’s spade, and only wakened to sharp activity -whenever a venturesome sheep or goat thrust itself upon his notice. -An oppressive silence lay upon the land, and there was silence in the -house whence the terrace opened. - -The room into which you stepped from the terrace was simplicity -itself. White everywhere; white sofas, white curtains and white chair -covers, with a purple table-cloth edged with wonderful Byzantine -embroidery. On a black cabinet there was a goodly display of old Greek -jars and lamps; and inside, a tray of antique coins and exquisitely -carved silver. These heirlooms are to be found in the poorest Teniote -cottages. I have been served by a cottager with water and jam on a -heavy silver tray, the water in a delicate Venetian glass with armorial -bearings wrought in colours into the glass, and the jam in a costly -silver chalice. In a recess there were shelves fitted with the Greek -classics, from which the Latin writers were jealously excluded. Your -scholarly Greek despises Latin. Sitting at a side table beside a -window that looked out upon the Castro, was an old man bent over one -of these classical tomes. He was reading in a leisurely, familiar way, -as a connoisseur sips his port. Occasionally he lifted his eyes from -his book, and removed his black cap, all the while unconsciously and -swiftly rolling up cigarettes, and puffing with the same deliberate -appreciation noticeable in his manner of reading. He was a keen, -thoughtful-looking man, with a curious mingling of black and white in -hair and beard. - -His solitude was interrupted by the entrance of an old woman, dressed -in a garment that may best be described as a black sack. She was a -serene little woman, very tidily built, with an indefatigable and -sturdy air, and in her brown face sparkled two preternaturally black -eyes. She wore a Turkish kerchief of red muslin wound round her head, -and outside this an enormous plait of false hair, as is the ungraceful -habit of the Island women. This was Selaka’s housekeeper and servant in -one. She was called Annunziata. - -“This, Kyrie, has just been brought up from the town,” she said, -handing him a telegram. - -Pericles took the telegram, opened it in his leisurely way,--one -naturally grows sleepy on a sleepy island. It was from his brother in -Athens announcing Reineke’s coming. Pericles frowned, and looked more -thoughtful than ever as he read the communication. As may be imagined, -it was neither very delicate nor very wise. It referred to a possible -desirable solution of Inarime’s future. - -“Humph,” said Pericles, and crushed the missive in his hand, “my -brother is sending us a visitor, Annunziata,” he explained, curtly. - -“A visitor! Has your brother taken leave of his senses? Surely the -visitor who proposes to come here cannot be other than a madman,” said -Annunziata, who appropriated the privilege of speaking her mind to her -master. - -“He was always a fool,” assented Pericles; “however, it is essential -that we should sustain our reputation for hospitality; so, my dear -woman, you will be good enough to prepare a room for the guest.” - -“And why should I prepare? Don’t you know that my rooms are always -prepared?” protested Annunziata, hurt in her honour as a housekeeper. - -“Yes, yes, but there will be sheets to air, and flowers and such things -to put in the room. He is an invalid; and sick men are proverbially -difficult to please. They require as much spoiling as a woman,” said -Pericles, dismissing the subject with a majestic wave of his hand. - -The subject, however, would not be dismissed from his mind, and he -sat there with his open book, his eyes persistently wandering from -one window to another, looking now out on the bright terrace and -then on the gloomy Castro behind. It was hardly human for a father -not to speculate upon the coming of this stranger, and its possible -consequences. A husband for Inarime! Nonsense! it was not to be -imagined that any stray adventurer, whom his brother might choose to -pick up, could possibly prove a worthy or desirable mate for that -pearl among girls. Besides, he was not prepared to give her to any man -who could not indisputably claim to be a Greek scholar. He knew the -sort of scholars Europe habitually sends to Greece. Self-sufficient -young men or tottering archæologists with a barbaric pronunciation and -a superficial acquaintance with Homer and Plato. These were not the -scholars he desired to know, nor the sort who, under any circumstances, -could prove congenial to him. As for Inarime, she was likely to be -still more fastidious. Her beauty and her great gifts entitled her to -contempt for less gifted mortals. While thinking thus, a shadow crossed -the light of the terrace, and a girl’s form stood framed in the doorway. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -INARIME. - - -Anybody whose travels have led him to the Hellenic shores, knows too -well that the old classic beauty is almost extinct. But not quite. -Here and there, on the islands of the Archipelago, he may chance upon -a face that looks at him out of the other centuries,--stamped with -the grandeur of an unforgotten race in protest against a physical -deterioration that gives it the melancholy charm of isolation. This -vision is rare, but once seen it is beheld with breathless wonder. -There is nothing to compare with it. Other European types of beauty -sink beside it, as do Italian melodies beside a bar of Beethoven. It is -as if over a gray landscape the scarlet dawn broke suddenly, showing an -unhoped-for reality in glowing tints and soft lines no imagination can -picture. - -Lit by the strong sunshine, with the faintest grave smile round her -lovely lips, as she met the puzzled glance of her father, Inarime -looked as if she sprang direct from the Immortals. - -Something like her face the student dreams of, when he muses over the -great Dead. The small dusky head, its blue-black hair, softening to a -tawny sheen at the brows; the olive cheek as smooth as satin, almost -colourless except where it gathers the bloom of the tea-rose, or of -a shell held to the light. The full firm curves of the mouth, rather -grave than gay, but ineffably sweet, with paler lips than those of -the North; the delicate nose coming down straight from the forehead: -the low arch of the eyebrows, and the curves of the chin that show no -weakness. These details much contributed to the charm of the whole. But -its greatest beauty were the unfathomable eyes--of a deep brown with -an outer ring, which in any joyous mood gave them the gleam of amber, -while sorrow or deep emotion darkened them to the luster of agate. She -wore a dress of dull gold, with a bronze velvet collar and cuffs. The -front of the bodice was trimmed with large bronze buttons. It was not -a dress which Mademoiselle Veritassi would have worn, but then, on the -other hand, it was not a dress that Mademoiselle Veritassi could have -worn. Dowdy it was not, but strange, and looked as if it had grown upon -the young, firm, and supple form it clothed. Inarime had a pardonable -weakness for this most suitable gown. She had worn it constantly since -she had selected it from the merchant who brought the stuff from Syra, -with other splendid materials for the women and young persons of Tenos, -and the dressmaker, who had studied her art in that same elegant -centre, had made it for her. Indeed, she had never a variety of gowns, -nor did she seem to miss this source of happiness. Round her neck hung -suspended by a thin gold chain a little Byzantine cross, a relic of -her mother, and her abundant hair was gathered into a thick coil with -a long golden pin. It may seem strange that I should insist upon these -trivial matters, seeing it is generally considered that young girls -should be thus adorned, but it is not so in Tenos, and the artistic -delight Inarime could not have failed to take in her own beauty, apart -from any silly vanity, and with no desire to please the eye of others, -is a very singular deviation from the custom of Greek girls. - -“Have you been waiting for me ever since, father?” she asked. A still -more curious fact, she did not speak the insular dialect, but pure -Athenian, with a faultless accent. - -“Yes, my dear,” said Pericles, addressing her in the same language, -though he had spoken good Teniote to Annunziata. “It is well that you -have come now. I think, my dear, it will be better for you to spend a -few days with your aunt at Mousoulou, and it has occurred to me that -you might go there this afternoon.” - -“But, why? I have no desire to go to Mousoulou,” protested Inarime. - -“Well, if you would just please me in this matter, I cannot tell you -how grateful I should be to you, Inarime,” said her father, who always -treated her as an equal. For this young creature was to him more son -than daughter, since he had brought her up in a masculine fashion, in -the matter of education and training. - -“It is strange, father, that you should turn capricious and mysterious, -but I will obey you in this as in all else,” she said, with an -exquisite gravity which likened her more than ever to a young goddess. - -She was standing close to him now; and he got up, placed his hands upon -her shoulders, and looked earnestly into her eyes. - -“It is no more than I might expect of you, Inarime” he said. - -There was a dignity, a restraint about the relations of these two that -was very striking. Perhaps Pericles affected the manner and bearing of -the Ancients, with whom he exclusively communed, and perhaps Inarime -had ostentatiously caught this trick from him. Laughter with them was -as rare as anger, and both held their pulses in complete subjection. - -Something of Inarime’s life,--while that lucky young man, known in -Greece as “the man of confidence,” who can be trusted to act as knight -to a lady, is leading her mule to the distant village of Mousoulou, and -while Gustav Reineke, on the “Iris,” is speeding towards the shores -of Tenos. This life is simple enough: unemotional, unanalysable; an -eager student from youngest years, the sole companion of a sage who -lived in the past. But Inarime enjoyed a local reputation that carried -the mind back to antique or mediæval days. The equilibrium of Europe -was not likely to be disturbed by it, but the peace of the island most -certainly was. All things we know are relative, and it is possible the -unknown and unsought conquests of Inarime would have been far enough -from causing any excitement to a London sylph. But besides Inarime’s -influence and reputation, extending over four mayoralties and sixty-two -villages, with a list of suitors headed by a bachelor mayor and the two -unmarried deputies, and including every single man and youth of the -island, the London sylph will be seen to play a small and insignificant -part in her own distinguished circle. She would probably turn up her -patrician nose at the addresses of a shepherd and a barbaric demarch. -But then the shepherd and the demarch would care as little about her. - -Despite their inherited and undisguised contempt for women, the sons -of Hellas have sense and taste enough to know the value of an antique -head on live young shoulders. It was now nearly two years since the -mountaineers, meeting on the rocky pathways that scale the crags and -precipices and fringe the torrent-beds, began to ask why Selaka delayed -to choose a son-in-law. Each man regarded himself as the only proper -choice. And down in the _cafés_ the townsfolk and fishermen wanted -an answer to the same question. As a set-off against this suspense, -there was the satisfactory knowledge that Selaka’s choice would -find it no easy matter to bring home his bride. Indeed, a few young -bloods, like Thomaso, the Mayor’s nephew, a quarrelsome fellow given -to an undue consumption of raki, and Petrus Vitalis, whose father’s -recent death left him the proud proprietor of three Caiques, openly -spoke of abduction. Constantine Selaka was aware of all this, and was -extremely anxious that Pericles should select a son-in-law from among -his Athenian friends. Choice and preliminaries should, of course, be a -matter of strict secrecy, as a preventive of warlike explosion, for he -knew that Inarime’s suitors would prove as little amenable to reason -and fair play as the graceless suitors of the unfortunate Penelope. - -And if, by delay, his niece should be carried off by the desperate -Thomaso or Petrus Vitalis, clack! Good-bye to the Athenian -nephew-in-law. - -“Idiots! how dare they aspire to her?” Pericles exclaimed, whenever -such unsuitable proposal reached him. - -“Well, Pericles, you must marry her to somebody, and you can’t expect -a Phœbus Apollo, with the classics on the tip of his tongue. You would -find him inconvenient enough,” the less exacting Constantine would -explain. - -“Leave Apollos, though I would have no objection if one were to be had. -But do you seriously expect me to marry a girl like Inarime, as lovely -as Artemis, as learned and wise as Athena, to a clown? A fellow who -gets up at two of a summer morning to shoot inoffensive birds, and gets -drunk upon abominable raki while prating in vile Romanic about politics -and the Lord knows what, of which he understands nothing!” - -“No, but there is Vitalis, the ‘member,’ who wants her.” - -“May the devil sit upon his moustaches for a vulgar blustering fool!” -exclaimed the old man, forgetting Olympus. “What is your Vitalis, -Constantine? A boor. An uneducated lawyer, who could not tell a -verse of Euripides from one of Sophocles; doesn’t, in fact, know -that either existed, and never translated a sentence of Thucydides -in his life. A clown is better. At least he has a dim consciousness -that he is a barbarian. Whereas the other shrunken miserable being in -his ill-fitting clothes and European hat, deems himself the happiest -edition of a boulevardier. Boulevardier, save the mark! France has been -the ruin of us!” - -“Then can’t you take Dragonnis, the other member?” - -“No, I cannot. I don’t want any wretched politician for Inarime. -Dragonnis is as bad as his colleague--a pair of dunderheads. My -daughter will not marry a Teniote, neither will she marry a chattering, -gossiping Athenian. Some day I’ll take her abroad, and give her to a -scholar and a gentleman, who will see in her gifts and beauty something -other than the mere decorations of an upper servant and mother of a -family.” - -Inarime had been the subject of disputes of this sort between the -brothers ever since that memorable day when the absence of shots -proclaimed to the village that a little “daughter of man,” instead -of the desired “son of God,” had come to bless the house. To the -friends and relatives, the intrusion of the unappreciated sex was -not, however, looked upon in the light of a blessing. According to -custom, people came and shook the hand of the injured father, condoling -loudly with the sorrowing and disgraced mother. But when Selaka’s wife -died shortly afterwards, and there was no boy on whom he could hope -to bestow his knowledge and learning, the father clung to Inarime. -He resolved to show the world, by his untiring labour, that a girl -may develop remarkable capacity and intellect. He cared little about -modern acquirements, but fed her mind exclusively upon the philosophy, -poetry, and history of her great ancestors. Homer and Hesiod were the -fairy tales of her childhood,--Plutarch the first book she learned -to read. She was familiar with all the ancient dialects and Greek -literature, from the time of Hesiod to the Alexandrian Renaissance. -She was taught to choose the simplest phrasing, and yet one that was -severely academical, from which all foreign interpolations of modern -Greek were expunged. The old calligraphy, too, was insisted upon, and -she wrote papers on the Trilogy from which an infallible University -Don might have learned much. Some of these papers her delighted father -contemplated sending to one of the German Universities, where he knew -that the fragrance of original thought and excellent style would be -more justly appreciated than in frivolous Athens. But he feared the -wrench of surrender such recognition from beyond the Ægean might bring. -A girl so perilously gifted might seek to plunge into the waters alone -and swim in depths beyond which his dim eyes and feeble hopes could not -follow. Besides, with him she was completely happy, and publicity is a -misery, a fret and a constant strain upon the nerves. - -Thus she grew up unconscious of solitude or of needs other than those -which her surroundings supplied. As for the accomplishments which -occupy the elegant leisure of European young ladies, she was hopelessly -ignorant: would have been perfectly unserviceable at a suburban -tea-party or a game of tennis, and the popinjays who figure in polite -society would have scorned her, had they attempted to engage her in -conversation suitable to a background of moonlit balcony, or in the -movement of a waltz. But if she could not dance or embroider, and -sing Signor Tosti’s weeping melodies, and if her brown slender hands -looked as if their acquaintance with sun and air was considerably -greater than with kid or Suède, she could carry a water-jar from the -village fountain in an attitude that was a picture of grace, with a -light swinging step that was the music of motion--and this the London -sylph could not have done. Her father was strong upon the necessity for -thorough gymnastic training, and she could swim and run and ride a mile -like a young athlete. Even Greek boys cannot do as much, but then they -are not brought up by antiquated professors, who faithfully copy the -precepts of the old philosophers. Selaka, for this athletic training -cultivated a strip of sanded path in his farm near the sea, with the -shade of plane trees for rest. Here Inarime raced and exercised, -sweeping the sanded path with flying feet, and lips parted with the joy -of quick movement and the flush of health crimsoning her olive cheek. - -Outside her books, her racing and riding, she had another important -duty--that of general letter-writer for Xinara and the adjacent village -of Lutra. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -REINEKE’S ARRIVAL AT XINARA. - - -It was a bright December afternoon when Reineke was left by the -_Iris_ upon the little pier at Tenos. Aristides, the “young man -of confidence,” who had safely deposited Inarime at her aunt’s at -Mousoulou, was sent by Selaka to meet him. Gustav inquiringly scanned -his conductor’s face. He disliked its inquisitiveness and keenness, -and was repelled by the familiarity with which the fellow held out -his hand. But he took the hand, and coldly expressed his satisfaction -with his new acquaintance, who explained to him volubly that it would -be advisable to rest a little in the town before ascending to Xinara. -Aristides then proceeded to guide the stranger to a little _café_, -and Reineke’s visible weakness made even a rest in such a locality -grateful. He sat quietly waiting for some coffee, and looked around. -Being an Eastern, he felt less shuddering repugnance to the place than -an Englishman or Frenchman would have felt. Besides, there was an -acute pleasure to be derived from watching the light flash upon the -blue waters, and gleam upon the lifted oars until they looked like -shining spears. He inferred that Aristides was the son of his host, -and conjectured that he would not be likely to draw very largely upon -such resources for intellectual enjoyment. And then, personally, he -disliked the Greeks, as we know. He was not restless or particularly -active, so that he could comfortably get through a couple of hours in -this indolent contemplation. But it was with a sense of relief that he -saw Aristides approach with a mule upon which he was invited to mount, -and slowly they made the difficult ascent. To a strong man such a ride -would be discomposing in the extreme; to a man still in the clutch of -an intermittent fever it was positive torture. It seemed to Reineke -that the attitude of the beast was a constant perpendicular, now -with its head for apex and now with its tail and this sort of motion -continued a good hour and a half. The musical flow of the torrent beds -and the echo of distant waterfalls were heard mingling with varied -bird-notes. But how to take æsthetic pleasure in these sounds when one -is momentarily expecting to be hurled into eternity, or, at least, -in peril of leaving various limbs about the precipices and ravines; -now frantically clutching forward and then almost prone backwards to -preserve one’s balance! - -Little by little, however, his senses began to recover, and he was able -to take occasional glimpses of the strange landscape through which he -was being hurled. The gathering twilight was dimming the pure air, but -had not yet struck out the colours that lay upon the land. The meadows -were full of wild flowers, and he noted how beautiful some of the weeds -were. The bloom of the fields and the gray mist of the olives, and the -purple haze that lay upon the fig branches, tracing their intricate -pattern across the silent hills and making their own pathway for the -shadows, charmed him. The sparkle and murmur of water, the departing -smile of sunshine from the darkening heavens, the early stir of -shepherd life, an air so fine that every scent from valley and hillside -was discernible from the mingled whole, filled him with a sense of -exquisite content. And when he saw the beautiful valley of Kolymvithra -unfolded like a panorama under the village of Xinara, and the great -purple Castro lost in evening shade, he felt that his perilous ride had -not been in vain. - -As they rode up the little village street, Demetrius and his satellites -were standing outside the blacksmith’s den. The presence of a stranger -naturally diverted their thoughts from the rascalities of the Prime -Minister at Athens, which they had been discussing. - -“That, I suppose, is an Englishman,” said the handsome Demetrius, -removing his cigarette, and staring hard at Reineke with an air of -ill-concealed discontent, as he addressed himself inclusively to -Michael, the contemplative carpenter, and Johannis, the blacksmith. - -“He is too dark for an Englishman; it is most likely he’s an Italian,” -suggested the carpenter, in a tone of apologetic protest. - -“You fool! do you think that every Englishman is yellow-haired and -white and red?” retorted Demetrius, snappishly. “But you are not going -to deny, I hope, that the man has the conceited air of an Englishman? -No other people carry themselves as if the world belonged to them, and -those that are not English do not count. And what is all this pride -for, pray? Ten of their heroes would not make one of ours.” - -“Very true, Demetrius,” concurred Michael, conciliatorily. “If England -had produced one Miltiades, we might all go hang ourselves, for no -other nation would be allowed to exist. Now here are we good-natured -Greeks, who count our heroes by the hundred, and know ourselves to be -the point upon which the world, both occidental and oriental, turns, -quietly smoking our cigarettes, and willing to allow others a part -of the pathway. Whereas an Englishman, when he goes abroad, walks -down other people’s streets as if he thought himself merciful in only -knocking the owners into the shade instead of crushing them.” - -“Well, I can’t say I am for England either,” said Johannis, diving his -hands into the pockets of his blue cotton pantaloons. “I always thought -she was too fond of helping herself to parts of the globe which she had -no right to, and of battering others into submission. But it cannot be -denied that she is very rich and sufficiently attentive to the affairs -of Greece. London, I hear on first-class authority, is a wonderful -place. You know Marengo, the captain of the _Iris_, stayed there a -week; but he never once ventured out of the hotel alone, so frightened -was he by the noise and the people. He solemnly swears he saw fifty -trains steaming in and out of the station at the same time. It sounds -incredible, but Marengo is positive. He counted thirty, but his head -grew dizzy, though he saw he had only got through half the number. When -driving he had to keep his eyes and ears closed, expecting every minute -to be killed by the thousand cabs that whizzed round him as quick as -lightning. He could not understand how the people managed to cross the -streets, some of them a mile in width!” - -“You may believe half of what Marengo says, Johannis,” cried -Demetrius, “he is an unconscionable liar. However, I have certainly -been assured that London is a largest kind of town, perhaps a little -more extensive than Athens, but then I never believe all I hear. I like -to judge things for myself. Not that I have seen Athens either; but -I believe it to be the finest city in the world. Why, was not Athens -founded long before London or Paris were heard of? Do not people come -every day from America to see it, and guardians have to be placed -about the Acropolis to prevent strangers robbing its stones or relics? -I would be glad if you could name a Greek who would go to London or -America for a relic!” - -Demetrius looked as if he had sufficiently clinched the matter. If -travellers come to Greece for a purpose which certainly does not -inspire the Greeks to go to foreign parts, it clearly proves the -advantage on the side of Greece. - -“True enough, Demetrius,” assented Michael, “and do we not know that -Mr. Gladstone, the Prime Minister of England, is more anxious for -our safety than that of his own people? And he would gladly exchange -London for Athens to-morrow if he could, and mind you, he has seen both -places. If we go to war this year, depend upon it, Mr. Gladstone will -send us men enough to smash the Turks.” - -“We will accept England’s aid when we need it,” said the village -Lothario, condescendingly, with a dramatic gesture, as he threw away -the end of his cigarette. “But we know very well that three hundred -Greeks are more than a match for ten thousand Turks, as they were for -the Persians in the olden days.” - -Demetrius, you will perceive, was learned, and that was why he was -president of the clubs. - -“Where are you going shooting to-morrow?” asked Johannis, who knew -nothing about the Persians, and resented their introduction with the -unreasonable jealousy and bigotry of ignorance. - -“I am going to shoot round Koumara,” said Demetrius, testily. - -“It’s poor shooting you’ll get there,” remarked Johannis. “I am going -to Mousoulou. I shot a lot of wild pigeons there last Sunday and bagged -larks and sparrows by the dozen.” - -In the meantime, through a running fire of continual comment, and -under the gaze of every pair of eyes the village possessed, Reineke, -conducted by the cheerful and voluble Aristides, was led down the -torrent and round by the windmill upon the brow of the hill, to the -little postern gate which led into Selaka’s vineyard. He was so -exhausted that in dismounting he had to lean heavily upon Aristides, -and slowly walked up the sloping path to the gate. It was opened by -Annunziata, who flashed him a delightful smile of welcome, and at -that moment Selaka himself hastened forward, and shook him cordially -by the hand. But Reineke was too weak and fatigued to do more than -smile faintly, and murmur some unintelligible phrase, upon which he -was helped into the house, and there collapsed at once upon the sofa. -Here we will leave him in the sleep of complete exhaustion, feeling -shattered and bruised and as if a week’s sleep would be insufficient to -recuperate him. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -(_From Reineke’s Note Book._) - -MUTE ELOQUENCE. - - -Contrary to my expectations, I awoke on the morning after my arrival -at Xinara refreshed, with only that sensation of fatigue in the limbs -that makes it delightful to lie perfectly still and revel in the luxury -of homespun and lavender-perfumed sheets. The bed was the softest I -ever slept on, the room the prettiest and freshest I ever wakened in. -Such light, such a cheerful display of linen as everywhere greeted my -eyes! In the garden, by the drawn blind, I could see Persian lilacs, -in which the birds had evidently built their nests, and down among the -trees of the orchards thousands of others seemed to have congregated. -The effect of their _aubade_ on this lovely winter morning was curious. -It began by a soft twitter, which gradually deepened its volume, until -it swelled upon mighty waves and beat frantically against the silver -gates of the morning in a shower of sound. It shook the closed shutters -like hail that lashes the earth outside. In the half haze of troubled -sleep, I imagined, at first, that the heavens had suddenly opened -in an unwonted downpour, but as soon as I was thoroughly awake, and -glanced upon the dim world which slowly unfolded beneath the light -of the breaking day, I understood and recognised the cause of this -patter against the panes. The increasing red of the east began to sweep -across the pallid sky, washed the lingering moon white, and enriched -the zenith with a dash of warm blue. I got up and opened the nearest -window, and then lay back to follow the movement of that impetuous -swell of music, sustained with exquisite orchestral harmony. The sound -seemed to travel round and round in a circle, continuously gathering -force, and then burst into a flood of song. An indistinguishable tumult -of wave with ever this strange, perpetual, circuitous movement, as if -all the birds of all the gardens and woods had met, and were whirling -round and round this spot of earth in some mad dance of wing. I think -I must have slept again, or perhaps I lay in an open-eyed dream for -some time. When I looked once more out of the window, I saw the bright -pleasant little woman, who had welcomed me the night before, walk -sturdily down the path that leads to the village, with her red water -jar placed on her shoulder, one muscular brown arm flung round her -head to support it. What a pleasure it was to watch her! She looked so -secure, so contented, so seriously active, and there was a light in -her eye which betrayed something more than cheerfulness,--a sense of -humour, and a kind of still laugh just traced the faintest sympathetic -line round the mouth. I supposed her to be the mother of that -intolerable youth who had led my mule last night, and who served me as -guide in my most memorable ride. - -My restful solitude was broken by the entrance of Annunziata, carrying -a little tray with coffee, an inviting roll called Koulouria, and some -cigarettes. She placed it beside me, and then touched my hand softly, -and stood and smiled upon me with maternal benignity. - -“You are rested, Kyrie?” she asked. - -“Quite fresh, and ready for another ride,” I answered, laughing. - -When I had partaken of this sober fare, she begged me to be still -awhile, and held a light and a cigarette for me. I am fond enough of a -recumbent attitude, and nothing loth, accepted the proffered sedative. -Then she trotted off with her inimitable air of sturdy serenity, and -hardly had she left me to my own contented thoughts when the door -opened, and in walked Aristides. Is it not unreasonable to dislike a -man, for no other reason than that his exterior and certain tricks -of manner revolt you? The fellow is really a decent fellow, but he -has a way of lifting the pressure of his lithe frame from one foot to -another, and of running his forefinger along his shapely nose, that -provokes me to the verge of exasperation. I watch for these tricks -with an unaccountable impatience, and when they come, I am invariably -harassed with the suppressed impetuosity of physical rage, and expect -before long to fling something at him. He entered the room with an -air of polished familiarity, took a chair, uninvited, as if he were -a prince of the blood whose condescension singularly honoured me, -and smiled in large affability and tolerance as he began to roll a -cigarette. After a pause he remarked casually, with a very apparent -desire to set me at ease: - -“Vera nice counthry, Ingland, like vera much I do Ingleesh--large -place, I hear.” - -I nodded, and patiently waited to learn why I should be attacked in -execrable English. - -“I knew Ingleeshman in Smyrna. He vera nice man, touch vera well piano. -You touch piano?” - -I admitted an innocent weakness that way, and continued to smoke -complacently, tickled by the humour of the situation. - -“You are Ingleesh, sarr?” - -“I have not that honour.” - -“Ah, vous êtes Français?” - -I failed to claim that great and much belauded nationality, whereupon -Aristides, indefatigable in the pursuit of knowledge, and anxious to -confound me with his linguistic skill, burst out radiantly: - -“Sie sind Deutsch.” - -“If you will condescend to speak your own language and spare me your -exasperating murder of Continental tongues, it may be of some slight -advantage to you and me,” I cried. - -My unaccustomed violence in nowise discomposed him. He proved his -philosophic superiority by blandly smiling, as if to turn aside a wrath -he considered childish and inconsequent, rolled another cigarette, -leant forward, lit it, and observed, with an air of casual approval, -that it was a pleasing surprise to meet a foreigner who could speak -Greek. He then proceeded to question me with the savage candour and -curiosity of his race. He was eager to learn my income, its source, -the cost of the clothes I wore, if they were purchased in Paris or -in London, if I admired the Greeks and Greece, if I were married, or -disposed to marry a Greek, if my parents were alive, and how many -brothers and sisters I had. To those singular questions I replied -curtly, contemptuously resolved to see how far he would push his -indiscreet investigations. Then when I grew tired, I proceeded to -obtain a little information on my own account. From the communicative -Aristides I learned that the amiable doctor, who so wisely recommended -me the bosom of nature and innocence, is for inscrutable reasons -recognised as the King of Tenos, that he is a member of King George’s -Parliament, and by claim of obstruction unillumined by a rushlight of -intelligence or motive, is called the Parnell of Greece. - -My host, it appears, is a more interesting character. His attitude -towards the moderns is that of unsparing contempt. He lives with the -ancients, and entertains a very lively horror of that superior people, -the French. His daughter is reputed to be a handsome and cultivated -young woman, to whose hand every unmarried male of the island aspires. -She has an exquisite name, Inarime. When I got rid of Aristides, I lay -back and conjectured a variety of visions of the owner of such a name. -In turn I dismissed from my mind the amiable maiden, the attractive -peasant girl, the chill statue and the haughty pedant, the Arab, the -Turk, the Italian of the Levant. Not one of these seemed to fit in with -my ideal of Inarime, and the thought that she had left Xinara before my -arrival fretted me strangely with a sense of baffled desire. - -“Just an old pagan philosopher,” Aristides had said, speaking of -Selaka, “who keeps the handsomest girl of Tenos locked away from -everyone, as if a glance were a stain. He seems to regard her as a -goddess, and nobody here worthy to look upon her divinity. That is -why he sent her away before you came. He distrusts you and every other -Christian. Now, if you happened to be a Pagan, I have not the slightest -doubt he would be willing to marry you right off to Inarime.” - -Why should this impertinent suggestion of Aristides have shot the blood -of anger and shame into my face? And yet it did, and the heat remained -after the fellow had left me to my own reflections. I do not think that -I am specially nervous or sensitive, but the shock of that idea touched -me with a force that made me shrink as from a prophecy. I dreaded to -meet Inarime, and almost resented her exile on my account. There may -be something flattering to our masculine vanity in the fact that a -beautiful girl has been sent into banishment on our account, but this -balsam did not heal a certain dull ache of dismay and resentment. - -In this unreasonable mood Selaka found me. He inquired after my health -with measured courtliness, and suggested a variety of additions to my -comfort. I was dressed now, and reclining on a sofa. Without hesitation -I followed his advice to breathe the air of the terrace awhile. The -broad sunshine and the open-air serenity of the scene soothed and -calmed me, and I felt I could have been content to sit thus for hours -watching the flapping shadows of the windmills upon the sunny hills, -under the spell of the noon-day silence of nature. My host sat beside -me, the inevitable cigarette between his fingers, with a sharp but -kindly glance turned occasionally upon me. I imagine the question of -my nationality was perplexing him, and he was, perhaps, seeking an -occasion to elicit direct information from me on this point. But this -did not conceal from me that the normal expression of his fine dark -eyes showed the glow of an impersonal enthusiasm, doubtless lit by -his long devotion to the ancients. By reason of his rough-hewn and -unfinished features, he looked rather a simple good-natured peasant, -removed from the sordid conflict and merely animal sensations of -husbandry, than a learned pedagogue or an earth-removed philosopher; a -man fond of questioning the stars and his own soul, but not indifferent -to the delights of shepherd-life; capable of sparing a daisy and -stepping out of the way of a burdened ant, when he walked abroad with -Plato or Thucydides in his hand. It struck me that Inarime could be -no vulgar glittering jewel to be thus carefully shielded from the -irreverent gaze by this sage of Tenos. - -“I think you cannot be French,” he said, at last. - -“Reineke is a German name,” I answered, evasively, for it was not my -wish to court coldness by an avowal of my nationality. - -“Ah, it is well. I do not like the French.” - -“And yet your countrymen adore them,” I said, and laughed. - -“So they do, so they do--to their sorrow and shame.” - -“How can that be? Is France not admittedly the first nation of the -civilised world?” I exclaimed. - -“That depends upon what is understood by civilisation. If you mean -humbug, vice, vanity and bluster, infamous plays and vaudevilles, -immoral literature generally, you may crown France with a triple crown -of shameless glory. But if you mean truth, good manners, purity, sense -and honourable restraint in all things, as the old world understood it, -then France is below all other countries to-day. It is because Greece -is so infatuated with France that I completely despair of her future.” - -“It seems to me that you are charging an innocent country with the -vices of a depraved town. France is not Paris, and Paris is the sinner.” - -“Paris! France! It is one. The country looks on complacently, and -approves the nameless follies of the city. It makes no effort to impede -her fatal career, and is not dismayed to see her, with her band of -lascivious poets and novelists, dance madly towards her doom, in the -degradation of decay, with a weak and dissolute smile on her worn lips.” - -“Do you condemn all her writers?” - -“Upon moral and artistic grounds I condemn all unreservedly. You are -one of those who, perhaps, call Victor Hugo great. I do not. ‘Words, -words, words,’ as Hamlet says, and nothing to come at them. Chip away -all the superfluous decorations and excrescences of ‘Notre Dame,’ and -measure it by the severe restrictions of Greek Art. You have twenty -pages, strengthened, purified, with only essential action and speech, -instead, of two long volumes of intolerable verbiage. No, sir; France’s -sentence has been pronounced. One day Germany will sweep her away, -with her vices and her graces, and they, I admit, are many. She is -in a debilitated and anæmic state, starting up in spasms of febrile -vitality, and the sooner her destiny is accomplished, the better for us -and all other such feebly imitative peoples. Have you stayed long in -Athens?” - -“No, in fact I have seen nothing as yet of the town.” - -“Ah, then you have yet to learn why I, and every true lover of Greece, -should hate the name of France. The men and women in Athens speak bad -Greek, though there is no reason why their speech should not be as -pure as Plutarch’s. Every one chatters in bad French, with what object -it would puzzle the Lord himself to discover. The women rave about -Ohnet, a vulgar writer whose style even I can know to be execrable. -Like the illustrious Hugo, the men read Zola, and are thereby much -improved. There are French vaudevilles and _cafés-chantants_; our -army is superintended by Frenchmen, who draw large salaries for the -privilege of laughing at us. Paris condescends to send our women its -cast-off fashions at enormously disproportionate prices. Athens is, in -fact, a small, dull, feeble Paris,--Paris in caricature, without the -fascination of its many-sided life.” - -He stopped suddenly, half-ashamed and slightly flushed after his burst -of indignation. When we had smoked a cigarette apiece, I made careless -mention of his brother, and asked about his family. Constantine, he -told me, had long ago married a handsome Levantine who, after a few -months of conjugal discord, had attempted to shoot him, and then -betaken herself to Constantinople with a native of Syra. This disaster -had naturally tended to convince Constantine of the nothingness of -marriage, and he had since remained in single inconsolation. Pericles -himself had been blessed with a wife, picked up at Ischia, as lovely -in soul as in body, but here again was demonstrated the singular -fleetingness of wedded bliss. This pearl among wives melted away in the -crucial test of childbirth--and Selaka was left, bereaved and truly -forlorn, with a baby girl upon his hands. - -Later on in the afternoon Selaka joined me, just as my senses were -lazily shaking themselves out of the thrall of siesta. He asked me if I -were interested in the study of ancient Greek, and upon my enthusiastic -affirmative, his face brightened and his manner immediately assumed a -cordiality and a pleasure that charmed me. He invited me to accompany -him in his walk through his orchard and vineyard; and truly a delight -it was to me to be brought face to face with a nature so simple and -a mind so exquisitely cultivated as his. Perhaps it would be thought -that such exclusive recognition of the past and such a profound and -unutterable contempt for the present were narrow and pedantic. That -it tended to lessen his interest in humanity cannot be denied. But -how very precious, from sincerity and undecorated speech, were the -thoughts to which he gave expression during our leisurely walk! Much as -I delighted, however, in the ancients, and deeply interesting as was -any discussion upon the old Greek writers, I could not get out of my -head the one word “Inarime.” I was haunted with the wish, nay, almost -the need, to hear something of her, and at last, after a pause in our -conversation, I hazarded the question: - -“Is your daughter married?” - -Selaka fixed me with a quick, suspicious glance, and said, coldly, - -“My daughter is young; it will be time enough yet to think of marrying -her!” - -“Then she does not live with you?” I persisted, with pardonable -indelicacy. - -“She is at present staying with her aunt at Mousoulou,” said Selaka. - -I ought to have let the subject drop upon these strong hints, but I -went on: - -“I am told she is very beautiful.” - -“You have been told the truth,” said Selaka. - -I saw that further questioning would be indiscreet. However discursive -he might be upon the subject of the ancient Greeks, his reticence upon -the subject of Inarime was not to be shaken. - -Thus passed my three first days in Xinara. Aristides invariably -wounded and offended me by his impertinent freedom and his still more -impertinent confidences. It appears Aristides is one of Inarime’s -admirers, and being promoted to the rank of chief muleteer to his -mistress, naturally regards himself as having scored above all his -rivals. The early morning was generally spent by me in exploring the -neighbouring hills alone. In the afternoon I accompanied Selaka round -his small estate. A tranquil, healthy existence it was, and under its -influences my late fever and languor left me. With recurrent health -I gained in vitality and spirits, and had I not been pursued by an -indefinable curiosity--a sense of baffled hope,--I should ere this have -been measuring my forces for a return to Athens. - - * * * * * * * - -It was the fourth day since my arrival from Tenos, when I opened -the door of the bright sitting-room with the intention of passing -an hour or two among Selaka’s choice books. Looking out upon the -desolate Castor,--seeming the more desolate because of the cruel -joy of the sunshine that so ruthlessly exposed its empty flanks, my -ear was attracted by the sound of hysterical sobbing and half-angry -expostulation, that came from the courtyard through the opposite open -window. I walked across the room, wondering what could have happened -to disturb the active serenity of Annunziata. My eyes fell upon a -village woman, whose withered, sunburnt face was lifted in tearful -prayer to another, who sat with her back to me, leaning over a little -table. There was something exquisitely youthful and gracious in the -attitude,--of majestic youth in the line of the figure clad, as I could -see, in some dark yellow stuff. But the small head was completely -hidden in a muslin kerchief of spotless white, with a Turkish border of -yellow and crimson. - -There was a restraint and firmness--an unconscious grace in the pose, -and I felt my pulses quicken with eagerness to see the face. Could this -be a young judge measuring awful depths of iniquity in a criminal? A -cold Diana reproving undue tenderness, a wise Athena rebuking folly? I -listened. The villager’s brogue and voluble utterances were difficult -to follow. But I gathered that there was question of a letter that had -been written, and that the dictator’s mind had altered, and that she -now wanted one written in an entirely different spirit. - -“I am so sorry, Kyria. He will never come back to me if he gets that -letter, and what does anything matter to me as long as he remains -away? Tell him that I am not angry with him; that I will bear anything -rather than that he should not come back to me. If he would only leave -her and come away from Smyrna! Tell him anything, young lady, that will -touch him,--I am so lonely, so weary of waiting for him!” I heard the -woman say. - -“But, my poor woman, what proof have I that, if I rewrite the letter -in this new mood, you will not be sorry for the leniency in another -hour, and implore me to write an angrier letter for you?” The voice -was clear and soft, with a curious throat sound that somehow carried -with it the idea of velvet. Something in it seemed to draw me with an -ache of desire to see the speaker. I acted upon an unaccountable and -irresistible impulse. It compelled me in a kind of dreamy expectation -down the marble steps, and, standing with my hand upon the top of the -pillar, close to her, my intense gaze was an equal compulsion to her. - -She moved her head round slowly, and our eyes met. Was it the shock -of recognition, the awful bliss of surprised surrender, the force of -revelation, undreamed, unawaited, yet not the less complete because of -its suddenness, that held our glances in a steady dismay? - -I laid down my arms at once happy, contented, prone, in a sacred -servitude; but she, I could divine, with the delicate instinct of -maidenhood, strove to struggle and release her soul. But no effort of -even her imperious will could move her eyes from mine, upon which they -rested in the mute eloquence of dazzled entreaty, shining as if they -were filled with light. And then slowly their golden hue faded into a -wistful brown, and slowly, grudgingly drooped their lids,--and mine, as -if by instinct, dropped. It was only afterwards that I could remember -the glory of her resplendent youth, and dwell upon the flash of her -great beauty. - -She laid her hand upon the head of the kneeling, sobbing woman, and -said: - -“I cannot write your letter to-day, Katinko, but come to me at -Mousoulou,” and then turning, looked at me again, this time with -less trouble and dismay through the unfathomable tenderness of her -gaze,--looked at me steadily, commandingly, unconsciously reminding me -that she was sovereign lady, and that not one inch of her sovereignty -would she forego for me. I humbly accepted the dismissal of her eyes, -without a word of protest or prayer, though the pulses of my body -rang with frantic urgence for both. I stood to let her pass me, and -was strong enough to resist the temptation to touch her hand as a -suppliant might, to prostrate myself before her as a servant. But no; -our attitude must be that of equals, something told me. If she be queen -then must I be king; sovereign, too. Not servant, Inarime. King of you, -as you, beloved, are henceforth queen of me! - -I went to my room and tried to think. But thought was vain as action--I -could only feel. Feel that I had seen Inarime; that my soul had touched -hers; that there was henceforth no life apart for either of us. While -I sat thus, dismantled of reality, and full of an overpowering joy, -I heard the harsh voice of Aristides checking the impetuosity of his -mule, and the words “Kyria” and “Mousoulou” caught my wandering -attention. - -I drew near to the window in a thrill of alarm. Inarime was seated on -the mule, with no other shelter from the beating sunbeams than the -white kerchief bound round her head. A strong impulse swept through me -to forbid this departure, to cry out passionately against the injustice -of flight and desertion. But this folly would but imperil my position. -What right had I to usurp authority and claim upon the surprised -declaration of her eloquent eyes? And there came upon me a sense of the -perfect tact of her action, its true fitness in accord with the dignity -of her sex. Pursuit was for me,--not flight, but a delicate, cold -aloofness was hers by divine privilege. Not other would I have her than -sensitively alive to the gracelessness of serene and easy conquest. And -I was not hurt, was I, by this withdrawal from the new light of day, -for her will must ever now be my own. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -(_From Reineke’s Note Book._) - -A SILENT BETROTHAL. - - -When I joined Selaka in his afternoon stroll, he appeared to notice -something different in my step and in my eyes. I felt myself as if I -sprang rather than walked, and my glance saw nothing distinctly that -it rested upon: it was impeded and clouded by the intense illumination -from within. Yet never before did the bare, sunny hills look to me more -lovely; never did the Greek isles, rising above their happy waters like -rose and mauve clouds upon a blue sky, seem more dreamily enchanting. -I remember nothing of our conversation. I walked beside the old man, -drunk with my own speechless bliss, and answered his questions at -random. And all the while my soul sang aloud its pæan, and the whole -earth seemed to smile upon me out of one girl’s grave luminous gaze. -Inarime! It seemed to me that the sweet air trembled with the shaking -impulses of my intemperate gladness. - -Two days passed thus. Blind and absent as I was, I could remark the -sullen suspicion of Aristides’ manner, no longer vexing with its -impertinent familiarity, but repulsing me with insolent sullenness. I -paid no heed to this childishness. But I was struck with the fellow’s -extraordinary penetration. Whence could he have divined there was -aught in me to fear or distrust? There was something of the extreme -fineness and subtlety of the animal instinct in his intuition, which -completely eluded my observation. But Annunziata simply attributed -my restored strength and serene joy to the notoriously beneficial -influences of mountain air. She always greeted me with her cordial -smile, and sometimes ventured to pat my hand in a motherly way. I -delighted in her noiseless activity, and in her sturdy self-reliance. -Tears for self I should imagine had never dimmed her bright black eyes, -and the lines time had traced upon her brown forehead were not lines of -pain and mental travail, but the marks of healthy, contented labour. -It was a lesson to watch her carry her water jar from the village -fountain, or lay the table, without hurry or anxiety, with the perfect -ease of punctuality and order. Selaka, I felt, was studying me, half in -perplexity, half in alarm, yet with increasing approval. He liked me, -and with the days grew his cautious esteem into precipitate affection. - -On the third day from my meeting with Inarime, he joined me in the -early morning, as I sat upon the terrace, smoking and revelling in the -lovely air. My heart could no longer bear this silence and separation, -and my tongue at last resolved to give utterance to its urgent claim. - -“Will your daughter remain much longer at Mousoulou?” I asked, -conscious that my voice was unsteady from eagerness. - -“I have not yet decided,” said Selaka quietly. - -“Kyrie Selaka, I have a favor to ask you--the very greatest one man can -ask another.” - -I looked round into his face as I spoke, and knew I was pale to the -lips. - -“You wish to see my daughter,” said Selaka gravely. - -“Nay, I have seen her. I want you to take me to her.” - -The old man sat for awhile motionless as a statue, then he rose, and -paced the terrace in severe and anxious reflection. - -After a pause, that seemed to me interminable, he stopped in front of -me, and looked in silence into my eyes. He shook back his head, as if -he had come to a supreme decision, placed one hand on my shoulder, and -held his beard with the other. - -“Why not?” he asked, and then sat down beside me. - -“That is not worthily said, Kyrie Selaka,” I could not help exclaiming, -reproachfully. - -“I see. You think I should ask ‘why’ rather than ‘why not,’” said -Selaka, smiling softly. “And you are right; it is ‘why?’” - -“Why?” I cried, impetuously, “because I love her, because I am hers, -and she, I know, is mine.” - -“Gently, my son, gently,” he interposed, laying his hand soothingly -upon mine. “It seems to me that for a German you possess a pretty -lively and reckless temperament. That having looked upon my daughter, -her beauty should fire your young blood with romantic aspirations, is -but natural. That you should ardently wish to see her again, is as it -should be. But that you should hurl yourself with desperate passion -into this rash and unconsidered decision that you are hers and Inarime -is yours--my son, my son, it is not thus that I desire Inarime should -be loved. From stormy scenes and the tempestuous fluctuations of -passion would I jealously guard her, as from other noxious influences. -The state of romantic love I regard, in common with all serious -thinkers, as the very worst and most degraded state of bondage into -which man can fall. It is equally unreasonable in its sickening -depressions and in its passionate anticipations. I can see that it is -only fruitful in cruelty, in folly, in stupidity, in crime and reckless -blunders. Its miseries are immeasurable, and grievously restricted is -its circle of joys.” - -“But surely, sir, it was with this kind of romantic love that you loved -your wife, Inarime’s mother,” I retorted. - -“It was not so, my son. I loved her with the priceless affection -that is based upon tranquil knowledge, upon spiritual affinity and -inalterable esteem. Had the Gods left her to me, very jealously would -I have sought to preserve her from the wintry winds of sorrow and -poverty, and harsh experiences. Dear to me was she, as a complete -blessing, and profound was my grief when she was taken from me. But I -did not pursue her with the unthinking ardour of a burning desire, nor -was my soul consumed in its fires. I saw that she was good and serene, -and her beauty was an added charm. I sought her in the noontide of -life, as one seeks shade in the noontide of day.” - -“But, sir, I beseech you, do not judge us all by this high and inhuman -ideal. We cannot all be sages. The passions will speak with terrible -insistence in youth, however heavy a chain of habit and restraint -may encompass them, and I cannot think there is aught unworthy or -degrading in their petulant voice. We love not the less nobly and -purely because passion is the font from which our love springs. If -it prompts imperious exactions, may it not be that it urges sublime -devotions? Man has nobly died for the sake of that romantic love you -condemn, and what sacrifice can be finer than a woman’s surrender to -it?” - -“There should be neither sacrifice nor death. Reasonable beings should -strive to meet and fulfil the decrees of destiny, in measure and calm -acceptance of the laws of nature; not upon any violent urgence of the -emotions, allow themselves to be swept away and precipitated into -depths like powerless leaves whipped by the blast.” - -“But if I recognise the decree of destiny that commands me to love -Inarime, must I not obey it?” - -“Be temperate; that is all I ask of you. Be just, too, and as little -foolish and indiscreet as it is possible for a young man so blinded as -you are,” said Selaka, and I thought he did not look extremely offended -or discomposed by my impulsiveness. - -“And when will you consent to put my discretion and my wisdom to the -proof?” I persisted. - -“To-morrow morning we will go to Mousoulou.” - -To-morrow, Inarime, to-morrow! That was all I could think of as I sat -and counted the hours, and my heart now sank within me in the complete -prostration of yearning, and then rose to intoxicating heights upon -the splendid wings of promise. I walked up and down the terrace all -night, and watched the stars, as glorious and varied as the hopes that -sprang and wavered and clamoured around me. Oh, the stillness, the -soft yet sharp enchantment of a night-watch upon an Ægean island! The -distant murmur of the restless sea breaks the silence of the land, and -the shadowy hills fall into the dense veil of the valleys. The charm -enters the soul like a pang, and it works upon the quickened senses -with the subtle mingling of exasperation, of poignant and tranquil -feelings. I felt chill as the twilight crept slowly over the night, -and the stars began to pale and drop, one by one, out of the dim sky, -like extinguished lamps, tracing a faint milky-way where their blue -and golden illumination had been. Then quickly shot into the eastern -horizon an arch of blood-red cloud, and showed the sea silver beneath -it, and over this scarlet bridge appeared the sun, like a ball of -living light ready to explode upon the pallid scene. And then the birds -of the orchard began their piercing harmonies, and the wide spears of -the grasses glistened with their crystal gathering of the night-dews. -Day had come; my day, Inarime, and yours. - -Contact with cold water did duty for sleep. I felt quite refreshed when -I entered the little sitting-room where the coffee and Koulouria were -served. - -“You are early,” said Selaka, greeting me with an intangible smile, -“and yet I am not wrong in believing you were walking on the terrace -long after every one had gone to bed.” - -I nodded, and drank my coffee as if it were nectar. I almost choked -myself in my eagerness to dispatch my Koulouria, and hugely pleased -Annunziata by begging another cup of her excellent coffee. One has not -just recovered from a fever and held a tryst with the stars without -serious result to one’s appetite. - -After breakfast, under a delicately-clouded sky, we rode through -the episcopal village of Xinara, this time, to my satisfaction, -unaccompanied by Aristides. The narrowness of the passage compelled -us to ride in single file until we had passed the bishop’s palace and -all the gardens and pigeon-holed hamlets with their bright terraces -and flowers. We turned up off the path round the great Castro, which, -near, looks even more impressive than afar, burnt red and brown with -the sun and rain, the wild thyme making a purple and scented haze upon -its enormous flanks. Skirting the ruins of Borgo, all the valleys and -vine plantations and orchards, girdled with hill beyond hill, burst -upon our view in a magnificent panorama. Everywhere the sharp contrast -of silver, olive and blue sea, and beneath us a vein of humid light -flashed and twisted itself like quicksilver through the plain, until a -bar of rocks broke it into an impetuous descent of foam. Silence lay -upon the land, and alternately soft and glowing colours were swept -across the empty hills by the wind-pursued clouds and the variations -of sun-fire. Here and there little petulant torrents dashed noisily -down the precipices, to twine themselves in the valleys and resume -their wild course, wherever the rocks rose and shot them into frothy -music. As we rode through each village, the curs came out, and stood -near a group of pigs to examine us with a depressed and listless air, -or bark at us from the ledge of a rock in a half-hearted way. Children -with matted hair and glances of dull curiosity, surveyed us gravely, -and whispered their opinions, and the villagers stared at us with -inconvenient candour and solemnity. As we neared Mousoulou, a fine -mist began to fall from the upper peaks, like a thin veil gradually -thickening until it enveloped the landscape in a grey pall. I enjoyed -the prospects of damp mountain scenery, but I could see that Selaka, -like all Greeks, was made unhappy and nervous by it. - -We reached Mousoulou drenched. A lover may be permitted to shrink -from presenting the front of a water-dog to his mistress, and I was -keenly relieved to learn that Inarime and her aunt were out when we -arrived. An old woman welcomed us, and offered Selaka one sofa of -honour and me another. We were administered a glass of cognac, then -Selaka left me to listen to the wind howling furiously against the -windows, bending the heads of the flowers on the terrace, and freezing -my feet as it blew in under the chinks of the five doors that opened -off the room. Undeterred by the rain, the villagers came in batches -to inspect the stranger--men, women and children. It was a kind of -theatrical entertainment for them, with the agreeable merit of being -free of charge, and they availed themselves of the occasion with great -good-will. The delighted old woman stayed and did the honours of the -spectacle, explained me and appraised me with refreshing candour, and -after a burst of exclamations, they all stood round perfectly calm, a -row of offensive statues. - -Can any reader, not experienced, possibly conjecture the nameless -irritation of thus being silently, mercilessly stared at, and what -black thoughts of murder may rush through the excited brain under it? -I think not. When at last I had reached the white-heat of exasperation -under this awful Greek gaze, I rose and turned my back on my -tormentors. - -The landscape was now folded in a grey mist, broken by the lines of the -walls, the spires and perforated belfries. Out of this grey picture -showed patches of brown earth and dark rock below the draped head of -Mount Elias, and the trees looked like ghosts. The sky was a field -of colourless cloud, and the flower-heads on the terrace pierced the -opaline vapour with eyes of brilliant reproach. On a distant hill-curve -a group of animals were shivering, and near by the raindrops made big -pools upon the marble pavement. And soon the grey grew to opaque white, -and rushed from the brow of Mount Elias like a swift cloud blotting out -the meadows and valleys. Where was the glory of the morning? And where -was the warmth of my heart? - -“Do you know, sir, that I am inclined to think that I have been quite -long enough on view?” I cried, when Selaka returned. - -Selaka smiled, and I burst into an irritable laugh, which seemed to -impress the audience in the light of a new act. They pressed nearer, -and broke into inarticulate sounds of wonder and grave approval. -I thought they meditated a general embrace, but they contented -themselves with keeping the air from me, poisoning the atmosphere, and -expectorating profusely. - -“Don’t you think, sir, that it would be possible to hint politely that -the entertainment is over?” I piteously implored. - -Upon a word and gesture of authority, the audience straggled out, -and doubtless held a parliament elsewhere to discuss the remarkable -phenomenon. - -“Surely your daughter is not out in this rain?” I asked, as soon as we -were left to ourselves. - -“No, she is sheltering in Steni. She accompanied her aunt on a visit to -a sick woman.” - -I looked round the large nude room, so chill and cheerless after -Selaka’s pretty sitting-room. The floor was marked with the wet clogs -of the recent explorers, and small rivers traversed it, flowing from -our umbrellas. The beams of the ceiling were supported by white arches, -and vulgar Italian pictures hung upon the whitewashed walls. It was the -dreariest place possible in which to await one’s beloved, and then the -sense of dampness, the deafening patter of rain against the windows, -the wind roaring and rising in frantic gusts, and earth and sky one -inextricable sea of grey! Most utterly wretched did I feel. I had much -to do to keep the tears of acute disappointment from my eyes, and -depression settled upon me as heavy as the impenetrable vapours outside. - -The noonday dinner was served, and like a philosopher Selaka enjoyed -the vermicelli soup, the pilau, and dish of larks stewed in tomatoes. -I ate, too, mechanically, with my glance and ear strained in feverish -intensity for the slightest premonition of Inarime’s return. And as we -sat drinking our coffee I could see with rapture that the colourless -mist was rolling rapidly off the earth, and above, delicately-tinted -clouds were beginning to show themselves upon the slate ground. The -sun peeped out through a blurred and ragged veil, and looked as if he -intended to dry the deluged world, and pale gold streaked the jagged -banks of red and yellow haze. Down the village street came the sound -of hoofed feet, and Selaka rushed forward. - -I went and stood at a window, and made a screen of the curtain. Selaka -had promised, upon my insistent prayer, to leave me but one moment -alone with Inarime before introducing me to her aunt. I saw a tall -massive woman, wrapped in a blue cloak, enter, and deposit her wet -umbrella in an opposite corner with maddening slowness. I glanced -behind her, and here stood Inarime enveloped in some brown garment with -a knot of red ribbon at her throat. She wore a red hood, and the moist -air and quick ride had left the glow of a pomegranate flower upon her -cheek. She stood in the middle of the room, and looked grave inquiry at -her father. He nodded reassuringly, told her to wait for him there, and -took his sister’s arm to lead her into the inner room. - -I came out of my hiding-place. There was something so solemn, so -ineffable in the moment, that I rejected all speech as inadequate. I -simply stood there looking at Inarime as I have never yet looked at any -woman, and then I said:--“Inarime!” - -I held out both hands. She turned, and without making any movement -towards me looked at me. Again her eyes gave me the impression of -eyes that are dazzled with light. They were clear as amber, crystal -as her soul, and held mine in willing bondage. Before then my pulses -had throbbed with expectation and hope; now they were quieted, numbed -almost by sheer intensity of feeling in the trace of gazing silence. - -“Inarime!” I said again, and this time my voice dropped to a whisper. - -Unconsciously she seemed drawn to me, and while our hands met and -clasped, our eyes dwelt on each other in grave delight. - -“You have not spoken to me, Inarime,” I said. - -“Who are you?” she asked, as a wondering child might. - -“Has your heart not told you, Inarime?” - -Something like fear and humble pleading strove with the mastery of her -proud restrained expression. It was so new and perilous to her, that -she hardly knew to what she might not have silently pledged herself. -She hastily withdrew her hands, but still her eyes rested on mine and -sought solution in their depths. - -“Oh, I am afraid,” she murmured, and a wave of intangible pain swept -over her strong face. - -“Not of me, Inarime; not of me,” I entreated, and drew near to gather -her hands again. - -Before either of us could realise or stay the volcanic influences that -impelled us in an irresistible shock, my arms were round her and our -lips were one. - - * * * * * * * - -Here Reineke’s note book, of which I was glad to avail myself, grows -too incoherent and impassioned for further use. The author will try to -tell the rest of his story. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -A REVELATION. - - -It was unknown, as regards time, to Reineke and Inarime whether -minutes or hours had passed before Selaka and his sister rejoined -them. The massive woman looked sharply at Gustav, then nodded to her -brother in emphatic approval. A keen and not unkindly glance took in -the situation, and it was possible she liked Reineke all the more for -the tell-tale colour that mounted to his cheeks under her searching -inspection. - -“Now, my children,” said Selaka, with as near an approach to the -ordinary gesture of rubbing the hands as a man so wedded to the customs -and restraint of the ancients could display. Here was a son-in-law, -if you will, not a popinjay from Athens, not a superficial European, -not a gross Teniote; but a man who was accustomed to deep draughts -from the old founts of learning! Whose youth still ran fire through -his veins, while the beauty of his face was enhanced by a delicate -suggestion of strength and burning life! Yes, Selaka was thoroughly -pleased with Gustav, and, in spite of his philosophic condemnation of -the impetuosities and frenzied purposes of an age he had long since -passed, something within him thrilled to their memoried delights. Upon -reflection, he would perhaps have viewed less enthusiastically the -love of a saner and older man for Inarime; and there might be moments -of sceptical acknowledgment of the sage reticence and colder blood -of the other different son-in-law he had dreamed of. There remained -nothing now to be discovered but the pecuniary circumstances of -Reineke, and some slight knowledge of his parentage. He looked very -unlike a German, but German blood might be crossed as well as any -other. Inarime had escaped, and Reineke stood rivetted to the very spot -she had left with a dazed look on his face as if he felt rather than -saw. He was awakened from the dreamy sensations that enveloped him by -the touch of Kyria Helene’s hand. - -“Pericles tells me that you have come to take Inarime from us,” said -she, and then nodded reassuringly to him, as if she thought it on the -whole an extremely reasonable intention on his part. - -“I am glad you think me worthy,” said Gustav, with a foolish lover’s -smile. - -“Oh, for that I don’t know; you may and you may not be. Young people -must take their chance; it’s for them to choose, and for them to -decide. You are comfortably off, I hope?” - -“Comfortably off!” burst out Gustav in radiant incoherence, “you ask a -man to whom the gates of Paradise have been opened if he is comfortably -off? I pray you, do not speak to me about it; settle everything as you -will, only leave me to my thoughts and my happiness.” - -This might suit a lover, but could hardly be expected to suit the young -lady’s guardians. - -“That is very well, but I refer to your means of support. Are you in a -position to maintain a wife?” asked the practical Kyria Helene. - -“I do not know,” said Gustav; “I am accounted a rich man.” - -“But do your people live in Germany?” she proceeded, catechising him -severely. - -And then came the one great difficulty in Gustav’s path. Oh, if he -could have abjured his nationality, gladly then would he have done so. -A Turk, and to confess that to these Greeks!--It seemed a horrible -risk. Gathering all his energies together, he shook back his head -defiantly, and rather gasped than said: - -“No, my people do not live in Germany. I am not a German. I am a Turk.” - -“A Turk!” cried the woman, and held up her hands in dismay and -repulsion. - -To Selaka no word was possible; for him the Turk was the symbol of -all that is most hateful in his country’s past. He stood transfixed, -staring at the young man whom a moment ago he had been prepared to take -to his heart, and to whom he had so readily consigned the one treasure -of his existence. No, that was not possible. Inarime wed a Turk! It -did not seem to him that worse degradation could be for a daughter of -free Greece! Despite his contempt of the present, his patriotic pride -was very fierce and unbending. He took a step nearer to Gustav, who was -looking at him now not defiantly but imploringly, and said: - -“There is surely some mistake. Perhaps you mean that you have been born -in Turkey. But your name is surely German?” - -“No, my name is not German, I merely adopted a German name in coming -to Greece so that I might not wound national susceptibilities, and -bring upon myself unnecessary coldness. My name is Daoud Bey. Kyria -Selaka, what difference can this make? I love not Inarime the less -because my people once oppressed yours. I am not responsible for the -blunders of generations. You do not surely imagine that I am less -likely to cherish and reverence your daughter than one of her own -countrymen? Rather do I believe that the very fact of the past wrongs -that her race endured at the hands of mine will add to my solemn charge -on the day she entrusts herself to my care. That it shall not be for -her grief you may believe, for I love her. Besides, you must think of -Inarime, if even you refuse to think of me. For now she is mine, and -nothing in regard to my nationality or race can alter that fact. You -must accept it.” - -“I do not accept it,” said Selaka, “my daughter will not marry a Turk. -I have said it.” Words of reproach for the lateness of the avowal were -on his lips but he repressed the natural retort “you have deceived me.” - -“Is this your decision?” asked Gustav, growing chill with fright. - -“It is my decision.” - -“Then I will only abide by the voice of Inarime. If she bids me go, I -will go even without her, but not otherwise. You may be her father, -but I am her lover. You have the claim of long years of devoted care -and affection, and I have but the claim of a moment of transcendent -passion. But, sir, your claim weighed with mine would prove but a -feather as opposed to the barque of love on the waters of destiny!” - -“No, I think not,” said Selaka. “Inarime will see your race in her -lover, and she will not take your name, whatever the effort of parting -may cost her.” - -“Kyrie Selaka,” cried Gustav, with frantic urgency, “I have but one -request to make you, and you must grant it. Not one word of this will -be uttered to Inarime; she will only hear from my lips of that which -you regard as an impassable barrier to our union.” - -Selaka shot a swift inquiry in the direction of his sister. - -“I think,” said Helen, “we may accede to this demand. It is reasonable, -and it does the young man credit that he should urge it.” - -Gustav looked his humble gratitude, and then went out on the terrace, -which was nearly dry after the recent deluge. The wet leaves gleamed -under their clear burden, while the damp air brought out all the -exquisite odours of hillside and valley. Gustav could have almost -laughed aloud in the surety of triumph. What could it matter to him the -decision of two cold-blooded old people, who perhaps never knew the -mighty force of love, or, having known it, had completely forgotten -it? _He_ allow himself to be calmly divorced from his mate, and sit -down tamely upon the sudden ruins of his life! Such mad acceptance -of the control of others might be befitting a phlegmatic Teuton, but -it was quite incompatible with the fire of an Oriental. And, then, -Inarime could not forsake him; and this theory of race antagonism -would be shivered on the first word of his that should fall on her -ears. It would mean only a little delay; some indecision, and perhaps -some tears; and then for them success lay ahead. Oh, why does nature -give youth its volcanic impulse and its ardent impetuosity! Strife, -struggle, delay! These but gave an added impetus to his passion. - -Flaming clouds shot from the west, heralds to proclaim the sun’s -departure in one burst of splendour. They touched the plane and -pepper-trees with light, and spurred the lagging birds into song. A -breeze, like a sigh after protracted sobbing, swept from the east, -and met the moist earth with a throb of promise. It brushed past over -Reineke’s hot cheek, and fanned his thrilled senses into exultation. -A silent shout of defiance from the invisible host that march in the -wake of triumphant love went up, and Reineke felt his heart impervious -to doubt. He heard a step, a light, quick step that he should have -recognised in a thousand, and it lashed him with insufferable force. - -“Inarime! stay! One moment, beloved,” he cried, in a voice of prayer. - -That prayer was her command. She stood still, but did not dare advance -lest answering passion should fling her in transport into his arms. - -They stood thus, trifling with the eternal moments, their aching -glances rivetted as under the spell of enchantment. Then he moved -towards her, and her hands met his in silence. - -“You are mine, Inarime,” he said, in a whisper. “Nothing now can alter -that.” - -“Nothing.” - -It was hardly speech. Her lips moved, but it was her eyes that spoke. - -“Say it aloud, beloved, that all may hear it, and know that you -promised,--the earth, the trees, the birds and the departing sun. -Aloud! Aloud!” - -“I am afraid! Can I know? Who are you? Tell me, tell me.” - -She retreated, but held him with the bewildering tenderness of her -glance. - -“Your lover! Lord of you, my lady. Inarime, your husband.” - -“I love you,” she cried, and covered her face with her hands. - -“My own! Your eyes spoke first. I knew it. Nothing shall part us. Say -you believe it.” - -“I cannot; but I love you.” - -He drew nearer, and his dark, impassioned gaze flamed fire into hers. -His breath was on her hair, and he held her hand to his lips. - -“Oh, my beloved, thou art the eye of my soul, the voice of my heart,” -he burst out, incoherently. At that moment of high-wrought sensation -and terrible sincerity, he could no more hold Eastern metaphor in -abeyance than he could bid his gaze close upon the light it avidly -drank--as sun-drained flowers drink dew. The restraints of European -customs and education were broken and overtopped by the strong heat of -passion, and wild words gushed upon its wave. - -“Inarime, Inarime, thy slim fingers are the rivets that bind my willing -feet to high service. Command me! Anything, I pray, but silence and -averted looks. Withhold me not thy promise.” - -“I cannot,” she said again, startled by his outburst. - -“Nay, thou art offended. Oh! blind me not with thy anger, Inarime. -But as thou wilt. Thy anger will I bear rather than that thou shouldst -leave me. O fair one, O desired of my life! Thy kiss upon my eyelids -shall be as the dawn of my Paradise. Be to me, sweet, as an angel -of morning. Lift the gloom and fever of unsatisfied longing from -my heart. Be to me as the sun, moon, and stars to this earth of -ours--light, life, warmth, and colour. I grow chill with the fear of -thy unwillingness, Inarime. Worse than perpetual deafness were to my -ear thy ‘nay.’ But ‘nay’ it cannot be, beloved. Thou lovest me. The -light has shown it in thy eyes. My voice has revealed it on thy face. -Mine art thou, O Inarime, and by our love must thou abide.” - -“Can I promise, not knowing? But I love you,” she cried, and her voice -rose in passionate protest, as though she felt the blood of feeling -rise within her like a mighty sea and encompass her to her doom. - -They looked at each other an instant gravely--a look of immeasurable -love! And while the flaming heralds were ebbing back into the sea, -and the sunken sun followed them through a bed of crimson and orange, -drawing a purple pall over his vacated place, these two were locked in -each other’s arms. Hush, foolish birds! There is no song of yours sweet -enough to pierce their ears. The harmonies of love have swelled upon -the silence, and its song is measured by their heart-beats. - -Inside, two others were holding sharp counsel over the destiny of this -miserable privileged pair. - -“Can nothing satisfactory be settled, Pericles?” asked Helene. - -“Certainly. He goes,” retorted her brother, bringing down his upper lip -shortly upon this unpleasant decision. - -“But he is rich, Pericles. Be a sane father for once in your life. A -rich man! _Panaghia mou!_ You are an idiot.” - -“He is a Turk.” - -“Oh, a Turk! Never fear, I will keep a careful eye upon him. With me -there will be no danger. He will neither desert Inarime, nor outrage -her with other wives.” - -“I have not thought of that,” said Pericles, reflectively. - -“_Dystychia mou!_ that is the only thing to be feared in wedding a -Turk,” remarked the practical Kyria Helene. - -“It is a side-issue, important, I admit, but below the main barrier. I -had forgotten, however, that the sentimental and impersonal side would -be the one least likely to touch you, Helene.” - -“Sentiment and impersonality won’t find your daughter a suitable match, -I can assure you,” said Helene, wisely. - -“True enough. But you are ever there, my sister, to shunt the train on -to the proper line when you detect a tendency to divagation.” - -He smiled sadly as he spoke, for his heart was torn with the torture of -the coming severity for those tender young people outside. He heard the -ardent murmur of Reineke’s voice, and his eyes filled with tears. But -he knew that there were no words the lover could utter that would make -him abandon his first decision. That Inarime would seek to shake his -resolution he had no fear. Was she not Greek of the very Greek? - -“Well, and what are you going to do, Pericles?” - -“Inarime will stay here with you, and he will return with me to Xinara -at once. Tell your servant to call for the mules. Ten minutes more will -I give them, and then their parting is irrevocable.” - -“But if Inarime loves this young man? He says she does.” - -“Trust her to me. It will be a wrench, but she will get over it. I will -take her to Athens, and through the Peloponnesus. New scenes will heal -the ache of a young heart.” - -Meanwhile, the two outside had dropped from the pinnacle of hardly -conscious bliss. She knew his name now, and was standing with one -hand stretched across his breast and resting upon his shoulder, and -their speech was a happy murmur. No thought of separation here. A life -together was what they were speaking of when Selaka interrupted them. - -“My children, it is time to part,” he said. - -“To part!” cried Inarime. “Then I am not to return to Xinara to-night -with you--and him?” - -“You are to stay here, and he is to go. Have you not told her?” he -demanded sternly of Reineke. - -“Nay, sir, consider. Had I time? Can I tell her?” Gustav pleaded, with -a broken voice. - -Inarime looked from one to the other. In the dusk the light in her -lover’s eyes seemed to baffle her searching gaze, and she approached -her father a step, her glance still wedded to Gustav’s. - -“What is there to tell me?” she commanded of both. - -“He is a Turk, my daughter. There can be nothing between you,” said -Selaka, sadly. - -“Oh, father! That may not be. I love him, his lips have sealed my -promise upon mine. I cannot now take back that which I have given. You -do not forsake me?” she cried, turning to Gustav, in an impulse of -childish yearning. - -“I! Inarime!” - -His throat rose and choked further speech. He held out his arms, and -her head sought protection on his breast. - -“Inarime, are you not shamed? Leave that man’s embrace. What! do you -not see in him the long years of servitude and degradation under which -your country groaned? Are you less proud, less worthy of your glorious -ancestors than the Greek woman who flung herself and her babes from a -rock into the engulfing sea rather than yield to Turkish embraces? Does -Hellenic blood run so sluggishly in your veins that revolt does not cry -for shame? Come to me, my daughter. That man and you must part.” - -“Have pity, sir, I beg you,” almost shouted Gustav, lifting up his -head, which had been bent upon the girl’s, and still holding her form -closely to him. “Is there no eloquence in her tears? Can I say naught -to shake your harsh resolve?” - -“Naught. Young tears are soon dried. Inarime!” - -She lifted her head from Gustav’s breast, and held her throat to keep -back the fierce sobs that shook her. - -“Father,” she said, “have I ever disobeyed you? Have I ever once -deliberately thwarted or offended you?” - -“Never, my beloved child, never. To me you have been a reward and a -support.” - -“Then, father, by that past unblotted by tear or wrangle, by the memory -of my mother, by your own vanished youth, I beseech you, spare me! I -love him, father, leave him to me,” she cried. - -Her hands were in Gustav’s, and her praying eyes pierced the heart of -Selaka. - -“My child, you know not what you ask. I tell you, the man is a Turk. It -is mad, it is base of you to be willing to give yourself to him. Do not -force me to renounce you.” - -She dropped Gustav’s hands, and her face was blanched in a transport of -pain. - -“Oh, father, blame me not. Your voice has never yet been harsh to me. -I am young. Show me some pity. Think what it is, on the threshold of -life, to be asked to relinquish life’s best happiness. Plead with -me--you,” she urged Gustav, her brows drawn in one line of repressed -anguish. - -“Sir, is there any sacrifice you will be satisfied with as a proof that -for her sake I must utterly renounce my nationality? If I adopt Greece -as my home, and your name instead of mine? Inarime is my life, my -world, my future,” cried Gustav. - -“You are a Turk. You cannot undo or alter that fact.” - -“Father, I cannot give him up,” said Inarime. - -“Then you are dead to me. Choose between us, my child. Marry him, and -go hence without a father. Drop your past, and take up your future -alone.” - -“Oh, sir, this is a cruel choice for so tender a daughter. I cannot -allow it,” Gustav protested. - -“It is my decision. Choose at once, Inarime.” - -“Leave you, father, or leave--him?” she said, slowly, dazed with the -stress of the moment. - -She looked from one to the other, and then with a little sob flung out -her arms towards her father, her eyes fastened in piteous entreaty on -Gustav’s. - -“You will forgive me,” she whispered to Gustav; “you will understand? -My father! I cannot leave him. He cared so greatly for me. It would be -wicked. It would be cruel. He is old. We are young. Oh, dear God, help -me!” she cried, in shuddering sobs, but when her father approached to -touch her, she shrank from him in a kind of dismay and repugnance. - -Shaken by an answering force of agony, Gustav was on his knees before -her, kissing her dress, her feet, her icy fingers. She trembled, and -a wave of colour spread over her face as she stooped and pressed her -hands against his wet eyes. - -“Dearest, it will be worse for me,” she murmured. - -“It is monstrous. I cannot, I will not accept dismissal. Youth is the -time of ardent purpose and revolt. Every nerve in our bodies, every -beat of our hearts must revolt against such cruelty. Your father must -relent if we both join against him.” - -“I will not relent. Stand up, Herr Reineke. Accept your sentence like a -man, and be not less brave than a mere child.” - -Thus chidden, Reineke stood up, like one struck mortally. His glance -never left Inarime’s and both were filled with an unfathomable -tenderness. - -“Go, my daughter, to your room. This gentleman and I will start at once -for Xinara.” - -Inarime made a step back towards the window, her face still turned to -Reineke’s, as a flower’s to the sun. - -“Inarime!” cried Gustav, and in an instant she had bounded across the -terrace, and was clinging to him as if for sheer life. - -“You see, sir,” said Gustav, looking up triumphantly, when their lips -were parted. “Love is ever conqueror.” - -“I think not. My daughter, say at once, is this our parting--our last -parting and our first?” - -Inarime lifted her head and removed her arms from her lover’s neck. She -gazed questioningly at both men, begged for pity from the one, and for -strength from the other. - -The old man was sad and stern, as immovable as his own great Castro. -Gustav’s beautiful Eastern face was aflame and radiant in youth and -strength and passion. - -Could she forsake the old and worn? - -“Not that, father, not that,” she cried. - -“Then leave that man and go inside.” - -“I will obey you, father,” she said. “Farewell,” she cried, turning to -Gustav, and with one long look she passed from the terrace. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -PARTED LOVERS. - - -The last word has been spoken, the last look exchanged between the -lovers, and the wrench of parting is over. Gustav declined to accompany -Selaka back to Xinara; he was too shaken for society other than his -own. Inarime had bent to her father’s decision, and had accepted the -sundering of their lives. More than this he hardly knew. - -When Selaka rode down the village, Gustav followed on foot, and knew -not whither he went,--content to drift along without purpose or desire. -Yet he dreaded the weakness of succumbing to a merely whimpering -sorrow. That something had gone from him to which he clung with a kind -of frenzied fervour he felt, but he was resolved that the sense of -desolation should not conquer him. He had said that he would accept -his fate at Inarime’s bidding; now, that that fate seemed harder than -human endurance, it was not for him to rebel in impotent anguish, but -to endeavour bravely to face the empty world. - -As he entered the village of Steni, he saw a little band of villagers -approach the Greek church, and, hardly knowing why, he followed them. -The church was lit, and in the middle upon a table was a tray of sweets -and two long candles, upon which rested two wreaths joined by a long -white ribbon. Pricked by the dull curiosity of a man who no longer -feels interested in himself, he pushed his way on up the church, -lounged against the pillar and gazed with a strange calmness upon the -ceremonial, that soon began. No one who saw him would interpret his -impassivity of attitude and look as the despair of a suddenly wrecked -life. - -The man beside him, standing with his hat on his head, and wearing the -preoccupied air with a visible nervousness that usually betokens the -happy man upon the portals of marriage, was a mere village clod in an -unpicturesque European garb, who stood beside his best man waiting for -the bride. A stout, plain, village girl was ushered into the church -in a whirlwind of excitement, surrounded by a circle of feminine -satellites. She neither looked at the bridegroom, nor at any one else, -but kept her eyes fixed in sullen acquiescence on the ground. - -She wore a bright-coloured kerchief on her head, with a band of coins -round her forehead; and a profusion of jewellery decked her muscular -throat and arms. Very expensively and tastelessly was she arrayed, -and most miserable did she look in her finery. The fixed misery of -her face interested Gustav, who naturally thought it quite in keeping -with the lesson of life, that every one should look wretched. Three -priests advanced to wed this uncomely couple, and the evolutions that -followed struck Gustav with astonishment. He listened to the priests -as they droned out the wedding service, and held the Gospel now to the -bridegroom’s lips and then to the bride’s; and so on, three times; -watched them place the long lighted tapers in the hands of each; -watched the pair give and accept rings, and passively submit to the -decoration of the wreaths of artificial flowers, exchanged three times -upon either head. - -Involuntarily Gustav smiled at the grotesque sight presented by the -village clod in his wreath of roses, and then marvelled when the -priests and principal personages, with their attendant swains and -nymphs, caught hands in a circle, and danced with inconceivable gravity -round the table backwards and forwards three times, the bride and -bridegroom still wearing their look of dull wretchedness. Good heavens! -Was this the kind of ceremony he would have been bound to go through -in his marriage with Inarime? to find himself hauled round a table, -as sailors haul in the anchor, bound in that degrading fashion with -roses! It was some slight salve for his wound to gaze in contempt at -this pastoral introduction to marriage, and when a little mischievous -boy upset the tray in order that he and his friends might taste of its -contents in the scuffle that ensued, and was frantically cuffed and -sworn at by the angry priests, Gustav burst out into gloomy laughter, -and made his way as well as he could out of the church. - -He walked down the darkened street heavy-hearted, thinking of Inarime; -he dropped into the rough decline that leads to Xinara, and mingled -with the sad images of the day were the cruel dulness of the bride’s -face and the tame acceptance of the bridegroom. After all, perhaps it -was so; this might be the symbol of marriage, and not the high ideal he -yearned for. - -Under a rocky projection he saw a man who had been pointed out to -him as a semi-idiot. An ambitious mother had sent him as a lad to -Marseilles; thence he had made his way up to Paris; and now this was -his state. Three years of stormy life in that nefarious city had turned -a bright lad into a bald, aged idiot, only twenty-five, looking more -than fifty. He was staring stupidly down through the thickening shadows -to where the sea beat against the distant shore: staring out from the -barren island that oppressed him; living acutely and horribly in memory. - -Comforted by the sight of a fellow-sufferer, Gustav stopped and said -good-night. The wretched man glanced at him in dreary reproach. - -“It used to be good-night over there in Paris; the boulevards were lit -and there were laughter and gaiety around, happy voices, music, cabs, -and pretty women. Here nothing, nothing, nothing, but the everlasting -sea and sky and the pathless mountain sides. Don’t say good-night to -me, sir, I am dead, irretrievably damned, damned, damned in hell!” - -Gustav thought he was not the only living man who thought this world a -hell, and turned round by the desolate Castro. He climbed up the rocks, -overjoyed by the sensation of complete discomfort, of torn hands and -bruised members. Then he stretched himself on the top of the rock, and -looked out across the shadowy waters. The first faint glimmer of the -crescent shone in the glossy sky, and the stars looked like drops of -fire hanging above the world. There was no sound save the far-off roar -of the waterfalls thundering down their marble rocks, or the musical -clang of the goat and sheep bells as the shepherds gathered in their -flocks for the night. Sometimes a light flamed from a distant window. -Gustav thought of old stories he had read, in which maidens placed -lights in their windows to light their lovers, or wives as a message -to their husbands. The loneliness of his future broke in upon him in a -flood of self-pity. There was only one window he wanted to see lighted -for him, and that now would be eternally dark. Tears sprang to his -eyes, and then, fearful of the horror of the gathering outburst he -felt within him, he jumped down the rocks, now sliding, now racing on, -tangling his limbs in the bushes and furzes, and shot down the path -that hung over the little village of Xinara. - -Demetrius saw him pass with flying feet, with set lips, and unseeing -eyes; and the popular shop-keeper turned to his patient satellites, -Johannes and Michael, and observed: - -“He’s been to Mousoulou; I heard it all; the wedding takes place -immediately.” - -“He’s a good-looking fellow,” said Johannes, apprehensive of the -reception of this innocent remark from so susceptible a leader. - -“As for that, yes, and he’s getting a good-looking wife, though she -does dress outlandishly, and turns up her nose at my stuffs. She got -that yellow gown at Syra, and I can’t say I admire the big buttons she -wears.” - -“Well,” said Michael, reflectively, “she is a very learned young woman, -and writes very fine letters for our women. I don’t know what they’ll -do when she goes away. I know my girl in Constantinople won’t be in -the way of hearing much from my wife.” - -“Ay, that’s so,” said Demetrius, “she’ll be missed as letter-writer, -and I’m not so sure that the place won’t seem a good deal smaller and -duller when we’ve not her handsome face to look at.” - -In the courtyard Gustav brushed up against Aristides, who glared at him -and muttered a curse as he removed his frame from the doorway, where -he had been airing his ill-humour for the benefit of Annunziata, busy -making the new Misythra. - -“Here he is,” he said to his good-tempered listener, engaged just then -on the delicate process of straining off the sheep’s milk and tying up -the remainder of clotted cream tightly in a linen cloth. - -Gustav strode up to her and said in an unfamiliar voice, chill and -remote like an echo: - -“I am going.” - -The pleasant old woman laid down her jar, dried her hands, and took -hold of his, tightening upon them with an inspiriting and sympathetic -grasp. - -“My poor child, may God and His saints go with you! I know all. By -my faith, I see no reason why you should go. The Turk, we know, is a -heretic, but you would marry my Inarime according to the Greek rite. -You would be faithful to her as a Christian should be.” - -“Faithful!” cried Gustav, vehemently. “Gladly would I die for her.” But -he did not see that of the two this is much the easier to do. - -“Yes, yes,” said Annunziata, “young men in love talk very tall; when -the fit passes, they do very little. But I like you, and I am sorry for -you. Go away now; it is better so. Be assured that your interests here -will not suffer by being left in my hands.” - -The tears were perilously near his eyelids; he struggled with rising -emotion, flung himself round, and in a moment his figure made a -vanishing and graceful shadow in the upper air. Selaka was within, -pacing the room in perplexed thought, when the young man entered. - -“Sir, is this your last word? Must I go and not bear with me the hope -of returning?” demanded Gustav. - -“You must,” said Selaka, gravely, “you cannot undo your birth, nor can -I.” - -Gustav waited not for another word, but rushed into his room, hastily -gathered his things together, and reappeared in the little parlour with -his portmanteau in his hand. He stood in front of Selaka, and looked at -him steadily. - -“Should this grief be too much for her?” - -“She is strong, and she is brave,” said Selaka, “and she will overcome -it.” - -“Good God!” said Gustav, “have you no thought of the girl’s heart? Are -there forces in nature, think you, to dispel or even dull its yearning? -Is there ever a barrier to the union of two souls! What you play with -is her happiness, for the sake of your own patriotic pride.” - -Selaka did not answer, but covered his eyes with his hand, and said: - -“It must be so. We are bound irrevocably by ties nearer, more sacred, -than any impulse of nature. There are animosities that cannot -shrink and vanish under such considerations as you urge; there is -a degradation that cannot be faced by any free spirit! Under other -circumstances, I should have regarded your marriage with my daughter as -an honour for me and a happiness for her. But that is at an end. You -will go hence, and you will forget us, but you may believe that our -kindest wishes will follow you wherever you may go.” - -They shook hands, and thus they parted. Gustav found Aristides -waiting for him outside, with a mule for himself and a donkey for -his portmanteau; and through the increasing darkness and the shadows -of night, which lay like extended wings on the landscape, they rode -silently down into the town. - - * * * * * * * * * - -The next morning Pericles was shaken out of his moody disappointment -by Constantine’s wild letter written the night before his duel with -the lawyer Stavros, and an accompanying note from the brave Captain, -dwelling pompously on his gallant demeanour, and explaining that the -wound, the result of an awkward shot, was not in the least dangerous, -but simply troublesome, and that the presence of Dr. Selaka’s family in -Athens was desirable. - -“The very thing. Inarime needs a change,” Pericles cried, brightening -at the prospect of getting outside his daughter’s grief. - -He and Inarime embarked from the little pier for Athens late that -afternoon, and it seemed to him a hopeful omen that the forlorn girl -looked about her with eyes of interest. - - - - -BOOK III. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -RUDOLPH AND ANDROMACHE. - - -New Year’s Eve at Athens by the Greek calendar. The long street of -Hermes was an execrable confusion of the mingled sounds of loud -chatter, laughter, jostling and popguns. Everybody was buying monster -bouquets for presentation on the morrow. Sensitive nerves were laid -prostrate in shivering ache by the din of squib and rattle, and -the intolerable and unceasing explosions, and the raw colours were -an offence to the eye. But the unfastidious Greeks were drunk with -excitement and pleasure. They proudly carried the purchased bouquets -with which the New Year’s greetings were to be exchanged, ate sweets, -laughed hilariously, and took their jostling very good-naturedly. -All the booths erected on either side of the street were covered -with flowers, and men went about bearing aloft long poles to which -bouquets for sale were affixed,--and these wands wore a curious -triumphal aspect. Oh, the dolorous strangeness and multiplied effects -of an Oriental town in holiday attire! Its clamorous and enervating -gaieties, and its exasperating want of tone! Think of it with a strong -sun beating down upon it, with not a touch of shadow or repose to -soothe the pained eyes, with incessant speech clanging and clattering -through the air, and every delicate sense affronted! - -Foreigners and natives were abroad to view and drink at this local -fount of joy. One group we recognise. Rudolph Ehrenstein elbows his -way through the crowd and turns protectively every moment to his -delighted and staring companion, Andromache with the March-violet -eyes, whom we last saw with shamed and drooping head flee Madame -Jarovisky’s ball-room. How well, and young, and prettily infatuated the -pair look! And there is the glorious Miltiades behind them, bearing -on his arm his portly and panting mother. Was there ever conqueror so -irresistible? ever hero more gallantly conscious of his heroism? The -spectator thought of those hapless five thousand Turks, and shuddered; -heard the ostentatious rattle of his spurs, and that terrible weapon -of destruction hanging from his side in the eloquence of war; looked -at the scarlet plumes nodding above his noble brow, measured the -awful imposingness of his tall slim form in the sombre simplicity of -the Artillery Uniform and his long military boots, and rejoiced that -Providence is good enough to limit the number of such heroes, else -would surely be exterminated the horde of non-heroic. - -This slaughterer of Turks was now content to be regarded as an amiable -slaughterer of women. Twirling his fierce moustache, with a casual -eye upon the young couple in front, he was looking round eagerly in -search of his latest victim, Miss Mary Perpignani, while his mother -breathed shortly on his arm, and kept muttering, “Poh! Poh! Poh! what a -crush!” while she vigorously fanned and rubbed her sallow face with her -handkerchief. - -Above the foolish pair in front, Love’s star shone with a very gentle -fulgence. Just a sense of delicious trouble, unmarred by any passionate -impulses, stirred Rudolph. There was a delicate fragrance of homage -in his shy and boyish fancy. It was a happiness, exquisite in its -completeness and unexactingness, to be with Andromache, to listen to -her voice and look quickly, with the tell-tale blood of fervour in his -face, into her pretty eyes, his own shining and candid and content. Was -there ever a sweeter, more innocent idyll? and the pity was that these -two should not be allowed to run smoothly and trustingly into the shade -of forest depths and live the life of nature, with no knowledge of the -shabby compromises of civilisation and the more turbulent emotions of -the heart. - -He called her Mademoiselle Andromache, and with a look of shyest prayer -had prevailed on her to call him sometimes Monsieur Rudolph. But the -_Monsieur_ and _Mademoiselle_ tripped by with alarming facility; -the tongue dwelt and faltered and whipped scarlet colour into each -susceptible cheek upon the _Andromache_ and _Rudolph_. Flattering, -foolish, happy creatures! If pulses never beat less innocently, and -senses never stirred more rapturously, the period of loverhood would -indeed be a spot of Arcadia upon the rough road of life. - -“Does all this not make your head and eyes ache, Mademoiselle -Andromache?” he asked. - -“No,” said the Greek maid, untroubled by nerves, and smiled in healthy -admiration. “Are not the bouquets pretty?” - -“If you think them pretty, they must be pretty,” said Rudolph, striving -loyally to see their beauty. “I am glad you like flowers.” - -“Why?” asked Andromache, meeting his eyes consciously. - -“Because there are such quantities of flowers about my home in Austria. -It is a lovely place, Mademoiselle Andromache. Imagine a great forest, -so silent and shadowy. Oh, if you could see it in the moonlight! The -trees drop silver, and fairies seem to play among the branches. I wish -I could show it to you, take you to see the haunted well, and show -you my mother’s favourite walk. You would have loved my mother, dear -Mademoiselle Andromache. She was so good, so sweet, so gracious. Oh, it -was a bitter loss to me. I cannot accustom myself to it. Sometimes I -wake up at night and fancy I hear her enter my room, and feel her soft -kiss on my forehead--and it is dreary to know that it is only fancy.” - -His voice shook and his clear eyes clouded. Andromache involuntarily -pressed his arm in sympathy, and when he looked down upon her he saw -responsive tears tremble on her lashes. - -“Dear Andromache,” he said, in a whisper, “you make me feel less -lonely. Ah, how my mother would have loved you!” - -And then these shy young persons, desperately afraid of each other and -of themselves, rushed eagerly on to impersonal ground. - -At the Byzantine church of Camcarea, which quaintly obstructs Hermes -Street, they were jostled out of sight of their escort, upon which -Kyria Karapolos was thrown into a state of voluble alarm. - -“Where are they, Miltiades? _Panaghia mou!_ Andromache alone with that -young man! Come, Miltiades! I shall have a fit if they have gone far.” - -“It is all right, mamma,” laughed Andromache, behind them. “We were -pushed off the pavement, and had to let some people pass.” - -And then she glanced roguishly at Rudolph, and another rivet in the -chain of intimacy was added by a sense of peril and crime shared -between them. - -“Very well, Andromache. You will stay with me now, and Miltiades will -bring back Monsieur Ehrenstein to drink coffee with us later.” - -The impenitent ruffian, who had endangered her daughter’s reputation, -took his dismissal gaily enough; bowed low and smiled delightfully upon -both ladies as he took the arm of the stately and stalwart Miltiades, -and stood for them to pass: - -“Je crois c’est assez,” said Miltiades, with a comprehensive glance -up and down the noisy street, which had the bad taste not to show the -piquant face of Miss Mary Perpignani. - -Rudolph, to whom the Captain’s limited vocabulary in French was a -source of perpetual amusement, intimated his concurrence with this -opinion, whereupon they ruthlessly beat their way down to Constitution -Square. - -“Voulez-vous un café et cigarette?” asked the Captain, touching the -back of a chair, and the droll anxiety he displayed in uttering this -simple demand sent Rudolph into an explosion of appreciative mirth. - -“Non, non, chez-vous, j’aime mieux,” said Rudolph, indistinctly, -between gasps of laughter. - -Miltiades frowned, and held his head high with a proud, hurt air. His -French might be imperfect and his enunciation laborious, but he was -not the less for that a hero. By the grave of Hercules! was he to be -flouted and mocked by a young jackanapes from Austria? - -“Mais, mon ami, il ne faut pas se fâcher,” cried Rudolph, full of -remorse and apprehension. “Ah, si vous saviez tout,” he added, and -forced Miltiades to stop and shake hands with him. - -But how to unbosom oneself to a desired brother-in-law without a common -tongue? His Greek was even more limited than the other’s French, and of -German the gallant Captain’s knowledge was restricted to the convivial -“Trinken Sie Wein,” and “Hoch.” But despite the difficulties in the way -of conversation, the young men were delighted to be together. - -Miltiades chattered Greek, and looked eager inquiry at Rudolph who -nodded significantly, and was as voluble and communicative in French. - -What they said neither knew, but a gleam of intelligence broke the not -unpleasant darkness occasionally for Miltiades, in such pregnant words -as “votre sœur,” “j’aime,” and “épouser.” - -“He wants to marry Andromache,” thought Miltiades, drawing himself up, -and looking very grave and responsible. “It would be a splendid match -for her, but his uncle will never consent to it. However, I’ll give -conditional consent.” - -“Vous,--épouser ma sœur, Andromache?” he said slowly, as he faced -Rudolph with the heaviest air of guardian. - -“Justement, Monsieur. Je le désire de tout mon cœur,” cried Rudolph, -flaming suddenly. - -“Ah,” said Miltiades, pausing, and holding the suitor poised on the -wing of awful suspense. “Votre oncle?” - -Here Rudolph broke out into vehement protestations regarding which not -one word did Miltiades understand. They turned up one of the openings -off Stadion Street that led direct to the Lycabettus, and here they met -little Themistocles, as fresh and dapper and dainty as if he were ready -for exhibition on a toy counter. - -Miltiades collared him forcibly, and explained the extremity of his -need. Charmed by the possession of this sole superiority over the -warrior, which his fluent French gave him, little Themistocles lifted -his hat, and twirling his cane with an air of graceful ease, placed his -services as interpreter at the disposal of Monsieur Ehrenstein. - -Thus was cleared the fog of doubt and perplexity. The Jovelike brow -of Miltiades smoothed, and the light of approval beamed softly in his -dark blue eyes. Little Themistocles minced, and smiled affectedly, and -shrugged his shoulders to an incredible extent, until the inferior -glory of the Parisian dandy was totally eclipsed. And Rudolph, now that -the fatal leap was taken, was full of vague apprehension and nervous -tremors. Was he quite so sure as he assumed to be that he had the right -to dispose of himself thus? But Andromache was so pretty and tender, -and he so greatly loved her! - -The enchanted brothers, for once partners in feeling and idea, hurried -him up the steep, unpaved streets, laughing boisterously as they jumped -the flowing streamlets that intersect them, and when they reached the -glass door of the beloved’s home, Miltiades rapped sharply against the -pane. - -“Maria, tell my mother to join us in the salon,” he said. - -“Kyria, you are wanted in the salon,” shouted Maria from the passage, -shaking her hair out of her eyes the better to stare at Rudolph. “I’m -thinking it is Andromache he wants, and not the old lady,” she muttered. - -Kyria Karapolos came puffing excitedly from the dining-room at the end -of the passage, followed by Julia, who wore her sulkiest air. - -“You are not wanted, Julia,” cried Miltiades, striding into the salon, -his sword and spurs making a fearful clatter along the floor. - -“You are not wanted, Julia,” echoed Themistocles, vindictively, eager -to air his own special spite under the cover of Miltiades’ command. - -Miltiades frowned and glowered upon him. He resented the liberty -of spurious authority in his presence, and a repetition of thunder -irritated him. But Rudolph’s presence checked his anger, and when the -suitor, the reigning sovereigns and their humble interpreter were -seated, there were perfect serenity and dignity in his bearing. - -“Monsieur Rudolph Ehrenstein wants to marry Andromache,” he said, -opening the proceedings. - -“_Panaghia mou!_” cried Kyria Karapolos, with a look of unutterable -astonishment at an announcement hourly expected. - -“He says his uncle will not object, and cannot practically interfere,” -Miltiades explained. - -“And that he is rich enough to dispense with a dowry,” added -Themistocles, thereby bringing upon himself a lightning-flame of -contempt from the hero of Greece. - -“_Panaghia mou!_ But I am rejoiced. My dear Monsieur Ehrenstein, you -are charming. I am happy to give you Andromache. Oh, but this is a -blessed moment for me!” and with that she rose, and emphatically -embraced poor Rudolph, whom the ordeal rendered giddy and awkward. This -was the signal for general demonstrations of affection. Miltiades shook -hands, and kissed the cheeks of his future brother-in-law, and little -Themistocles did likewise. - -“Order coffee and liqueur, mother,” said Miltiades. - -“You are very amiable,” Rudolph said, gratefully, disturbed by the -trouble of the moment. “I am sure it will be my pride and happiness to -deserve your good-will in the future.” - -Kyria Karapolos returned with Andromache, and announced that the -refreshments of jubilation would shortly appear. - -“Andromache, behold your husband,” exclaimed Miltiades, with a slightly -theatrical flourish. - -Whereupon little Themistocles sighed profoundly, and retreated to his -own chamber to vex the sunset with strains of his asthmatic violin, to -muse upon his misery and think of the young lady in the next street. -With a significant nod, Captain Miltiades marched away to imaginary -glory, and Kyria Karapolos, in a kindly impulse, found a pretext for a -short absence in the necessity for Julia’s presence. - -How frightened and shy two confiding young people can be when first -confronted with the horrors of a tête-à-tête. - -Andromache was ready to sink with shame, and Rudolph’s heart was in his -boots. He looked at her with piteous entreaty, but her lashes rested -upon her cheek. - -“Andromache, you are not afraid of me, you do not like me less -because--because----” and there was something extremely like fear in -his own voice and in the tender imploring of his eyes. - -“Oh, no, but I do not know what to say,” whispered Andromache, still -studying the Smyrna rug at her feet. - -“Look at me, Andromache, and say--say something kind.” - -She lifted her eyes, and they were filled with passionate admiration: - -“Say that--that you love me.” - -“I love you,” she said, with adorable simplicity. - -“Oh, Andromache,” he cried, suffocated with a sudden thrill, and -advanced nearer with outstretched hand. - -But she retreated in visible dread. - -“May I not have your hand, Andromache?” - -She gave it, still shrinking, with averted face. - -“Won’t you call me Rudolph, dear Andromache?” - -“Rudolph,” she whispered, and their eyes met lovingly. - -Emboldened by his success, he raised her hand to his lips. - -“What a pretty hand, Andromache! You are so pretty, dear one. I love -you,” he murmured gently, and steps were heard outside. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -A CRUEL UNCLE. - - -What are the forces, and on whose behalf employed, that trouble the -smooth current of true love? We have seen one pair cruelly separated, -and now must these innocents be subjected to infamous treatment? Has -the sentence from the beginning been irrevocably pronounced, that if -both Adam and Eve prove faithful and worthy, their Eden cannot escape -the serpent? Must their bliss be poisoned either by the reptile of Fate -or by themselves? Poor sorry lovers, there is no peace, no security -for you, even in romance. Your only chance of permanent interest lies -in the mist of misfortune. The moment you bask in cloudless content, -the wings of poetry are clipped, and your garb is the insipidity of -commonplace. - -The bolt of Destiny was shot from the blue of dreams next morning, when -Rudolph was banqueting blissfully with his uncle and aunt at the midday -breakfast. - -“Rudolph,” said the enemy, in amiable baronial form, “your aunt and I -have arranged a charming surprise for you.” - -Rudolph looked up quietly, without a smart of premonition, and smiled -his pleasantest. - -“That is kind, uncle. And the surprise?” - -“Well, seeing how bored you are here--and, really, my dear boy, I am -not astonished--we are going to take you on an exciting voyage through -the Peloponnesus. We will show you all the historic spots.” - -“But, my dear uncle, I have no desire whatever to see the Peloponnesus -or any historic spots,” exclaimed Rudolph, paling before the vision of -himself wandering away from Andromache. “I hate history, and don’t care -a straw for the ancient Greeks.” - -“Oh, Rudolph, don’t show me that I’ve built my hopes on you in vain,” -exclaimed the baroness, in cheerful dismay. “I have been counting on -you to explain everything to me. Your acquaintance with school books is -so much more recent than mine, and the baron is even more hazy in his -recollections than I.” - -“I am very sorry to disappoint you, aunt, but I cannot leave Athens at -present. I am not bored, uncle, I assure you. I am very happy, and I -love Athens.” - -The baron looked at him sharply, and thought he wore much too happy an -air. - -“Rudolph, I entreat you--if I were not so massive, I would kneel to -you,” cried the baron, in mock prayer, “allow us to drag you away for -one solitary fortnight from the enchantress, Mademoiselle Photini -Natzelhuber. I admit that our society and the sight of historic spots -will prove an inadequate substitute for her charms and fascinations, -but humour this whim of two old people, and your return to the feet of -the yellow-eyed witch of Academy Street will be the more delightful.” - -“I don’t know what you mean, uncle,” protested Rudolph, with a look -of startled anxiety. “I have not seen Mademoiselle Natzelhuber since -Madame Jarovisky’s ball.” - -“Not possible? Good gracious! that one so young should be so faithless! -The contemplation of the perfidy of my own sex, Madame, fills my eyes -with tears. But no, I apprehend. It is merely the refined hesitation of -innocence. He sighs at her door--serenades her--have you not, Madame, -remarked a tell-tale look about his violin?--and consumes quantities of -paper. Well, I shall see that there are at least a dozen quires of note -paper, of the very best quality, stamped with the family coat-of-arms, -placed in your portmanteau, Rudolph, and your aunt and I will retire -discreetly into the background while you compose your flaming epistles -and frantically adjure the moon and stars instead of Mademoiselle -Photini. - - - “‘Ma Photini, prépare ta toilette, - Il y a un mois que la mienne est déjà faite; - Mes beaux habits, mes seuls habits, - Voilà un mois que je les ai mis.’ - - -There are some verses, ‘une invitation au mariage,’ of which I make -you a present. You didn’t know that I sometimes perpetrate impromptu -verses? Good, aren’t they? ‘Ma Photini,’” he began again, singing the -lines to an impromptu air, seemingly unconscious that the crimson of -anger had mounted to Rudolph’s brow. - -“You must not tease the boy,” said the baroness, maliciously. -“Remember, you were once in love yourself.” - -“With you, Madame, before me, as a substantial testimony of that -pleasant fact, I do not see how I can forget it,” smiled the baron. - -“My dear baron, our Rudolph well understands that that is not the sort -of love he is pricked with. But, seriously, my dear child, you must not -abandon us. A young man loves and he rides away--for a time--which does -not in the least prevent him from riding back again, also for a time. -Don’t you see? The Natzelhuber won’t die meanwhile.” - -“Aunt, I cannot understand why you should talk in this way about -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber. Let me positively state that she is nothing -to me, nor am I anything to her,” cried Rudolph, testily. - -“Poor Mademoiselle! I weep for her,” said the baron. “And there is that -wretched Agiropoulos stamping and swearing about Athens, plotting duels -and blood and the Lord knows what, protesting against yellow-headed -Austrians and amber moustaches. Dear me! That such noble indignation, -and a jealousy with a fine mediæval flavour in it, should be wasted! -Well, it is settled. If you have got over that little affair of the -Natzelhuber, any scruples I may have cherished against tearing you -away from the violet-crowned city--vanish. So, my nephew, you will get -yourself up in that fascinating green coat and the long boots to-morrow -morning, and we will begin by Marathon.” - -The baron had finished his coffee and cigar, and stood up with a -gesture clearly indicating that the matter was settled. His mocking -smile struck Rudolph coward, and though his heart clamoured for open -recognition of Andromache, he was unable to force his tongue to break a -silence he felt to be mean and unmanly. - -“By the way, Rudolph, we have invited the Foreign Legations to dinner -at Kephissia, and there will be an expedition before dinner to Tatoi. -The young people will ride, and the elder ones will go by carriage. We -start at four, so you will not forget to look your best, and do your -utmost to entertain Mademoiselle Veritassi,” said the baron, from the -door. - -This last shot broke the deeps of holy indignation in the lover’s -heart. The Karapolos dined at half-past one. It would be discourteous -to call earlier than three. And how much time did that leave him for -Andromache? and he would be dragged away from her on the morrow. He -looked so candidly miserable and disappointed, that his aunt went over -to him, and kissed his forehead. - -“Is it your wish, aunt, that I should go with you this afternoon? Could -I not join you later in time for dinner at Kephissia?” - -“You poor child!” exclaimed the baroness, tenderly, smiling to herself -to think that he imagined them ignorant of his secret, and that it -should be so easy to manage and thwart him. - -“No, no, Rudolph. It would be an affront to our guests. You are like -the son of the house now, and your presence is indispensable to the -young people.” - -Rudolph sighed, and kissed his aunt’s plump hand in piteous and dumb -eloquence of protest and acquiescence. His eyes were full of tears as -he stood at his own window, and gazed like an angry, disappointed child -across the lovely hills and sudden sweeps of empty plain. Why had he -not spoken? Why had he not asserted himself? A man on the brink of -marriage ought surely to be able to take on himself the responsibility -of speech and decision. But there was the mocking smile of his uncle -that lashed him into petrified cowardice, like a well-bred taunt, and -flushed him like a buffet, and how to make these worldly relations -understand the charm of innocence, the fragrance of a violet, the -beauty of an untutored heart? - -Punctually at three o’clock, he rapped with his silver-handled -walking-stick upon the glass door at the foot of Lycabettus. He had -learnt to ask in Greek for the ladies, and with a stare and smile of -frank familiarity, Maria supposed it was Andromache and not the others -he wanted. The Austrian aristocrat, to whom all evidences of democracy -and ill-bred freedom were repugnant, reproved her with a slight touch -of haughty insolence, and pointedly repeated his wish to see Kyria -Karapolos and her family. - -“Kyria Karapolos, the fair young foreigner, is here,” shouted Maria, -and left him to find his way into the little salon. - -“My dear Monsieur Ehrenstein, it is a pleasure to me to welcome you,” -said Kyria Karapolos, hastening to join him. - -Her French was fluent, but droll enough to make conversation with her a -surprise and a puzzle. - -“I have come to tell you that my uncle and aunt have planned an -excursion to the Peloponnesus, and they insist on my accompanying -them,” Rudolph began at once, very dolorously indeed. - -“Well, of course you must please your uncle and aunt. It will make -them the more disposed afterwards to assent to your happiness. Here is -Andromache. Monsieur Ehrenstein has to leave Athens for a little while. -It is quite right. He must not displease those who stand to him as -father and mother.” - -Andromache blanched to the lips, and then a wave of red flowed into her -face. Rudolph felt that he loved her more than ever, and while he held -her hand, a smile struggled through the pain of his eyes. - -“It is so cruel to have to leave you just now, Andromache.” - -She dared not trust herself to speak, for she hardly knew how much it -is permitted a modest maiden to say to her lover. But her pretty eyes -said a great deal more than she dreamed. Rudolph looked into them, and -a happy light broke over his face. - -“You grieve too, dear,” he said, softly. - -“Must you go, Rudolph?” she asked, tremulously. - -“Shall I go, sweet friend?” - -Andromache looked question at her mother. - -“Of course he must,” cried Kyria Karapolos. “It would be folly to anger -or thwart them in the beginning. Besides, it won’t be for long, and we -can be getting things ready for the wedding in the meantime.” - -“Am I to go, Andromache?” Rudolph still asked, holding her shy glance -boldly with his own. - -“Yes,” she whispered. - -She took a little roll of embroidery from the pocket of her apron, and -applied herself to it eagerly, but the needle pricks marked tiny spots -of red along the cambric. Rudolph noted this, and anxiously cried out -that she was hurting him. Andromache looked up in amazement. - -“Don’t you understand?” asked this youth, suddenly growing subtle. “It -is my fingers you are so cruelly pricking with that sharp needle.” - -Andromache flashed him a joyous smile, and he bent forward, and held -both her hands to his mouth. - -“I love you, I love you,” he murmured, fondly. - -“Rudolph,” she said, and dropped her eyes. - -Kyria Karapolos thought proper to strike this growing heat chill with -a sound commonplace, by asking him if he had much land in Austria, and -what was the exact amount of his rent-roll. - -“I believe it amounts to five thousand, but my steward manages -everything for me. You may be assured, however, that I have quite -enough for Andromache and myself,” answered Rudolph, simply. - -This drove him to describe Rapoldenkirchen, and he necessarily -rhapsodised over its loveliness, and the happiness that awaited -Andromache in that shadowed home. And there in front of him was the -clock summoning him from heaven; it already pointed cruelly to the -stroke of four. He stood up and announced his hurry, shook hands with -Kyria Karapolos, and held a moment Andromache’s slim fingers, looking -sorrowfully into the shining March-violets he felt an irresistible -impulse to kiss. - -“You will think of me every day, dear?” - -“I will, Rudolph.” - -“Whisper. Am I very dear to you?” - -“Oh, Rudolph, I love you,” she cried, and broke down in simple passion. - -He stooped hurriedly and pressed his lips to her hair. In another -instant he was outside, tearing madly down the rough streets, splashing -his boots and clothes in the little streams, jumping over groups of -astonished babies, and racing, as if pursued by furies, past the -Platea Omonia and up the Patissia Road. - -There was a carriage outside the Austrian Embassy, and just as he got -inside, a group of riders bore down towards it. - -“Monsieur Rudolph will be down presently,” the major-domo explained, in -answer to the irritable inquiries of the baron. - -When Rudolph descended to the hall in his charming riding attire, -the baron surveyed him with a curious and amused smile, and nodded -approvingly. - -“There are some young ladies for you to look after. Spare them, I -entreat you,” and, in reply to Rudolph’s questioning look, added, -“Young ladies, you know, are weak and susceptible, and you wear an -abominably victimising air.” - -Rudolph jumped into the saddle with a very apparent want of alacrity. -Mademoiselle Veritassi smiled him welcome, and unconsciously he took -his place beside her. Three carriages carried the elders, and the party -of youthful riders nearly made the dozen. The air was blithe, the sun -shone gloriously and struck the landscape lucid green. The young blood -of the impressible Rudolph mounted to his head. The laughter of his -companions imparted its contagion to his bereaved heart; on he rode -with spring running music through his pulses, and caught by the mirth -of the landscape. - -The young people showed no destructive tendency to break into couples, -but kept one gay and impregnable party, laughing, joking, careering in -hearty rivalry to see who should out-distance the sedate carriage-folk, -chattering nonsense and enjoying the hour with the frenzied intensity -of unperturbed youth. Mademoiselle Veritassi made a delightful -companion, with the charm of a well-bred boy, courteously brusque and -quizzically candid. - -Under the fire of her imperious glance the sundered, dolorous air -dropped from Rudolph, the wine of life coursed vigorously through his -veins, and he shouted laughter with the rest. They skirted the stations -of upper and lower Patissia under the blue shadows of the Parnes -mountains. The marble of Pentelicus, struck by the quivering sunbeams, -broke the delicate mist afar. On either side, the long waste of olive -plantations toned the joy of the scene by their sad colour, and brought -out the contrast of the emerald grasses of the underwoods, and the -variously-tinted reeds that edge the torrent of the river Cephissus. -The little German village of Heraclion showed white and yellow, with -solemn spaces of cypress, upon the sky of clear, unshadowed blue. -Flocks of white and black sheep were like moving mounds upon the -fields, and over all hung Pentelicus, a haze of grey heather and -dismantled branches where its marbles were not a dazzle of whiteness. -Rudolph was enchanted with everything--with the blurred hillsides and -the murmuring streams that curled in soft swirls along by the hedges, -with the goatherds following their capricious charges,--the villagers, -burnt brown, in the glory of fustanella, scarlet fez and smart -jackets, their long sleeves hanging back like idle wings,--with the -boys and their donkeys, and the women in embroidered coats and muslin -head-dresses. - -At Kephissia it was obligatory to dismount and hunt for the grotto of -nymphs, and then talk nonsense beneath its dripping rocks and curtains -of maidenhair. It was even compulsory to taste of its water, and the -French viscount made a gallant allusion, and quoted the inevitable line -from Homer. Then on up the straight road to Tatoi, the arbutus in full -fruit, and on either side exquisite varieties of shrub and leaf and -winter flowers. The young ladies were eager to feed on the arbutus, -and sent their escorts to gather this ethereal nourishment. And when -they were replenished, and satisfied with the smirched and bramble-torn -condition of the cavaliers, they decorated their bosoms with the -berries, which showed like balls of blood upon their sombre habits. All -this necessarily involved much explosive mirth and many inarticulate -cries. And men and maidens rode on, convinced there is no delight to -match a ride through winter Athenian landscape, when the heart is -fresh, the eyes are clear, and the senses near the surface; when, above -all, there is plenty of arbutus-fruit for the gathering, cavaliers to -tear their gloves in its search through the bushes and brambles, and -attractive maidens to wear and eat it. - -What more potent than youth’s wild spirits? At dinner it was impossible -to say whether the young people or the old, to whom they had -communicated their irrepressible gaiety, were the more intoxicated. -What amazing tact and calculation were displayed by the Baron and -Baroness von Hohenfels! Well they understood the impressionable and -susceptible temperament they had to deal with when they gathered -together these gems of their society. Such brilliant eyes and laughing -teeth gleaming above the flowers, such whiz of airy and unseizable -nothings shot high on the wings of badinage, with the same intangible -flavour as the foam of champagne which plentifully drowned them. All -seemed specially conspiring to captivate the poor bereaved lover. And -so well did they succeed, that he quite forgot Andromache. It was only -after dinner, when Mademoiselle Veritassi was invited to sing, and -selected something weakly sentimental in French, all about hearts and -sighs and tears and parting, that the new-born babe, the infant Cupid, -began to clamour and blubber within him. Then he turned aside to think -of Andromache. He pressed his head against the window, and stared -blankly out upon the hotel gardens drenched with moonlight, the flowers -washed of all colour in their bath of silver. - -The baron saw him in this doleful attitude, and coming up behind him, -held one hand sentimentally upon his heart and the other stretched out, -in frantic adjuration to the moon. - -“Ma Photini, prépare ta toilette,” he sang. - -Rudolph faced him angrily, barely able to restrain the strong -exclamation that rushed to his lips. - -“No, I have just made better, that is, more appropriate verses. -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber is notorious for not greatly caring for dress. -Then it is clearly an offence to mention it.” - -Rudolph muttered the German equivalent for “bosh,” and walked away. - -Has any philosopher deigned to discover the reason why, when a party -of young folks start upon a boisterous expedition, and laugh until the -woods resound with their mirth, the return to the domestic hearth is -generally so silent and so depressed? They are bound to sigh, and look -at the stars, or at themselves, in a forlorn and disappointed way, and -wonder where and why all their wild enjoyment has vanished. - -Rudolph rode in front with Mademoiselle Veritassi, and remembered not -the existence of his companion, as his profound and troubled gaze -rested solemnly upon the dark landscape. The wavy hilltops stood far -out from the horizon, and the sky, instead of looking like a blue -shield against them, shot away like a sea of infinite mist. The night -air blew chilly round Athens, and the Viscount cheerfully suggested the -visit of those intemperate blasts that howl down from the encircling -hills with frantic force, and prove more than anything the exceeding -greatness of that mass of broken pillars and temples upon the Acropolis -that have resisted their destructive strength all these centuries. - -But the next day, though cold, was not thought unfit for travelling, -and, at an early hour, Rudolph was carried out of Athens to hear his -uncle spout and quote upon the plain of Marathon, where the anemones -were getting ready for their spring display. Pray, what did Rudolph -care about Miltiades? Had he not an intended brother-in-law of the -name worth ten such generals? Indeed, he hazarded the opinion that -the old one was greatly overrated, upon which his diplomatic uncle -smiled, as the wise smile upon the foolish--the smile of tolerant and -good-humoured superiority. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -AT THE THEATRE. - - -Pericles carried his wounded brother to Phalerum for the period of -convalescence, which an incessantly choleric spleen indefinitely -prolonged. They stayed at the Grand Hotel looking upon the sanded -beach, made cheerful by the café-tables and the proximity of the -railway station, by which hosts of voluble Athenians were ever passing -and repassing. In the afternoon they lounged amid the olive trees by -the side of the hotel, athwart which the blue of sky and sea showed -sharply, and drank their coffee while Constantine eagerly devoured “The -Hora” and the “The Palingenesia,” ready to pounce like a hawk on its -prey upon the first chance acquaintance Providence, in the shape of the -half-hourly train, should send him from Athens. - -Pericles sat reading one of his favourite volumes, now and then pausing -to look watchfully at his daughter, and thankful in his heart to see -how well she bore her sorrow. Inarime was for a time laid prostrate -by Gustav’s banishment. And then youth’s elasticity rebounded with -unconquered force. Like a drenched bird, she shook out her wet plumes, -returned to her books, and saw that the sun was shining and that the -flowers were blooming--noted it unwearily and without dismay. To -recognise this much in the time of passionate absorption in self is -a rapid stride towards recovery, and at such a moment new scenes and -excitements of any sort work most potently. - -February had set in sharp and chill when they returned to Athens, -Constantine cured and spared the humiliation of seeing the town -illuminated in honour of the new Mayor, Oïdas. He insisted on bringing -Inarime to the ruinously expensive dressmaker, Madame Antoinette, and -there she was supplied with every imaginable detail of fashionable -toilet, crowned with a gorgeous red silk parasol and long embroidered -Suède gloves. - -Inarime, thus apparelled, stood before a cheval mirror, and placidly -gazed astonishment at herself. It was impossible to deny that dress -added glory to her beauty. Picturesque she had been before with a -fitting background of valley and desolate mountain. Now she was a nymph -of Paris in walnut-coloured silk, and a little coquettish hat tipped -with feathers. - -“Now you are fit to be seen in the streets of a capital, Inarime,” -said Constantine, surveying her proudly. “Take her with you to Madame -Jarovisky’s, Pericles.” - -Pericles took her, to Madame Jarovisky’s lasting gratitude. The girl -was a positive sensation. Several men stopped to congratulate her uncle -next day. - -“We must take her to the theatre. There is _Faust_ on to-night. Every -one likes _Faust_, and it will delight Inarime, while she is delighting -others,” he said. - -“I see no objection to the theatre, but mind, Constantine, I will not -have the girl talked of. Remember what my great namesake says of women. -Their glory is the silence men observe upon them.” Here he quoted the -famous Oration. - -“Stuff and nonsense! Your mind is addled with that folly of the -Ancients. Who the deuce cares nowadays about silent virtue or the -violet blushing unseen? This is the age of advertisement. Get yourself -talked of, yourself, your house, your women--if not well, then by all -means ill. Only get the talk. Do you imagine I have not gone about -everywhere spreading the report of your learning? That is why you -receive so many cards of invitation. I extolled you to the director of -the German School of Archæology, and he was so impressed that he sends -you a request to attend their meeting next month.” - -Shame and disappointment struck scarlet Pericles’ sallow face. He -thought the letter the natural result of his own recognised and merited -reputation, mainly built upon a correspondence with one of the Greek -professors of the University of Bonn. - -“Brother,” he reproved, sternly, “it would afford me much satisfaction -if you would be good enough to discontinue mentioning abroad my name -and my daughter’s.” - -“Then I am curious to know how you intend to dispose of that girl of -yours.” - -Pericles sat still, and played musingly with his finger-tips. - -“I must marry her?” he interrogated, softly. - -“Marry her! What in the name of all the heathen gods else would -you do with her? Stick a professor’s cap on her head, and send her -out to lecture to a band of curious rascals like that rash and -self-opinionated young woman, Hypatia? You’d make a respectable Theon.” - -“His was the easier part. But Inarime would not be unworthy, though -it is the last career I should choose for her,” said Pericles, with a -quaint smile. - -“Exactly. You apprehend inflammable youth.” - -“I desire but to see my daughter live securely in the shade of -protection. There are times when I feel overwhelmed with a strange -sensation--half-illness, half the simple withdrawal of vitality. Then -it is that apprehensions and terror of a solitary future for that dear -girl assail and completely master me. I would have her married, and yet -it seems so improbable that I shall find a suitable partner, one to -whom her cultured intellect would be a noble possession, to whom her -beauty would be a thing of worship. There was one--alas! alas!” - -“Well, that’s settled. You sent him about his business. It was a -foolish thing to do. Helene thinks so, too. A Turk! Well, we don’t -choose our nationality. Probably he would just as soon have been born -a Greek or a German. Let that pass. Turn the lock upon your desire for -culture and learning. They won’t put bread and olives into Inarime’s -mouth. Money, Pericles, money is what we must look to.” - -When consulted about the theatre, Inarime showed sufficient pleasure in -the prospect to quiet the doubts of her anxious father. - -“Come down to Antoinette, and get something pretty--very pretty,” -Constantine ordered. “You are not a fool, I suppose, and can take some -natural interest in your beauty.” - -“I am glad that I am beautiful,” she said, gravely. - -“Very well. Put on your hat, and we’ll drive at once to Antoinette,” -her uncle laughed hilariously. “Oh, women!” - -Conceive the efficiency of a Parisian dressmaker instructed to enhance -beauty. Bedeck Inarime then according to fancy, so that the costume be -both scientific and suitable. - -Constantine was master upon the occasion, ordered the carriage, secured -the box, and fussily did the honours to the bewildered islanders when -they arrived in the little back street in which the old theatre was -located. It was a most grotesque and shabby paper edifice, ugly, dirty, -unstable. But it was worth the tenth-rate Italian companies who hired -it, and usually left Athens, after the season, bankrupt. The men, -untroubled by feminine charges, sat in the parterre, King George’s -officers, of whom there are many, enjoyed the spectacle on half fees, -chattering, laughing, and ostentatiously clanking their spurs and -swords against the floor as they walked about between the acts. Here -and there an aspiring civilian made believe to come fresh from Paris by -appearing _en frac_, and impertinently focussed the constellation of -beauty in the box lined with cheap and ragged paper, and in the last -stage of dilapidation. - -They were playing the waltz when the Selakas entered their box. In -spite of excruciating fiddles, and tuneless and vulgar singers, it was -possible to detect its intoxicating charm, and Inarime sat and listened -with a pleased, abstracted expression, her elbow resting on the front -of the box and her chin against her cream-gloved hand. Constantine took -the seat beside her, in front, and audibly hummed the air while his -quick glance roved over the house. He saw Oïdas, the Mayor, opposite in -a box with his sister and his little motherless girl. They exchanged -an uncordial nod, and the Mayor raised his opera-glass to inspect -Inarime. He passed it to his sister, and they nodded and whispered -together. The young bloods below were soon enough conscious that there -was somebody in the boxes worth looking at. Many an eye was turned from -the middle-aged Marguerite, whose flaxen wig inartistically exposed the -black hair underneath and who wore a soiled white wrapper of uncertain -length, with grass-green bows down the front. - -With naïve earnestness Inarime followed the actors, listened to the -melodies, and frequently turned to bespeak her father’s attention. She -was acquainted with Goethe, and knew the story of Marguerite in its -classic form. But this sweet and voluptuous music was quite unfamiliar -to her. Of music, good or bad, she knew nothing, and had only -occasionally heard a village piper piping for the Arcadians to dance. -She could see that the dresses were dirty and tawdry, but the novelty -of beholding a tender love-scene for the first time acted even by a -stagy foolish Faust singing false, and by a cracked-voiced Marguerite -in a slovenly wrapper, with wig awry, to the accompaniment of squeaking -fiddles and hoarse ’cellos, brought tears of sympathy to her eyes. -Her emotions were too keenly touched to allow of her remembering the -necessity of wiping away her tears, and when the curtain went down, the -tell-tale drops had fallen on her cheek. - -“What a lovely young woman,” Agiropoulos exclaimed, as he stood with -his back to the stage, and leisurely surveyed the occupants of the -boxes. - -“Where?” asked Rudolph, tolerantly. - -“Beside the Royal Box. She is with the gallant and fiery member for -Tenos.” Agiropoulos broke into laughter, and began to quote Constantine -at the Odeon. “‘I’ll mangle him, murder him, riddle him with shots,’ -and when it came to the point he had as much courage as a draggled hen.” - -Rudolph smiled faintly. He had heard the story before, and -Agiropoulos’s excessive spirits bored him. He turned round and looked -straight up at the Selaka group. He saw Inarime at once, wearing an -intense, almost tragic expression, as if the curtain had just gone down -upon her own first love-scene; some moments elapsed before he removed -his eyes from her. - -Constantine went away in search of an ice for his niece, and a little -distraction for himself in shape of gossip and a cigarette. He knocked -against Oïdas, and the rival politicians stopped to shake hands. - -“Is that your niece you have with you?” the Mayor asked. - -“Yes. She and Pericles are staying in town now.” - -“A very fine girl--I may say, a very beautiful one. Has your brother -any views with regard to her?” - -“Matrimonial?” queried Constantine, laughing. - -“Those, I think, are the only views fathers are supposed to entertain -about their daughters,” retorted Oïdas, with awkward, averted glance. - -“Oh, of course. He naturally cherishes the hope to dispose of her some -day with entire satisfaction to her and to himself.” - -“Anybody in question?” - -Constantine faced his interrogator boldly, narrowed his eyelids to a -sly, meditative slit, and answered:-- - -“You think of offering yourself, perhaps.” - -“I should certainly have no objection to a beautiful young wife. She -has a dowry, I presume.” - -“I presume so,” said Selaka, shutting up his lips in a portentous way. -“But there is something else to be considered besides your willingness.” - -“Undoubtedly. Still, it is a sufficiently important point. That is why -I mention it.” - -Constantine understood perfectly well that such wealth as Oïdas’ -entitled its owner to his confident air. No sane father would be likely -to reject or hesitate before such an offer as this, and the girl would, -of course, be guided by her father. - -“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” conceded the wily Constantine. - -“Begin by introducing me at once,” suggested the Mayor. - -The aspiring Mayor was carried triumphantly to the Selakas’ box. -The introduction enabled Oïdas to relieve Inarime of her saucer, -which he did with ponderous civility. She was hot and wretched in -spite of the eaten ice. Of the Mayor’s presence she took no note; in -spirit she gazed gloomily back upon the departed vision of Gustav -so harrowingly evoked by the music. Oïdas devoted himself to Selaka -with an occasional inclusive droop towards Inarime, whom he furtively -and appraisingly observed. Into his box opposite Stavros entered, -circumspect, thoroughly unobstructive, having joined the Government and -resigned the editorship of the “New Aristophanes.” He looked casually -at Constantine, and bit his underlip, it might be to restrain a blush -or a smile. In the next box, just before the curtain went up on the -second act, Miltiades rose like an evening sun upon the amazed scene, -in _grande tenue_, cheerfully attended by his mother and Andromache. - -“Your twin-soul,” whispered Agiropoulos. “Hector is called.” - -Rudolph turned round quickly, beheld Andromache with soft invitation -in her glance, jumped up, and in passing down the house, his eyes -rested for one moment on Inarime’s face. He withdrew them angrily, in -the delicate belief that even a dim consciousness of any other woman’s -beauty but his own particular lady’s was almost a deliberate disloyalty. - -“Oh, Rudolph, have you not seen her? Is she not beautiful?” Andromache -enthusiastically asked, as she turned round her affectionate and -glowing face to his when greetings were over, and he had taken his -recognised place behind her chair. - -“Who?” Rudolph whispered; rapture demanding that their lightest words -should be folded in mystery. - -Andromache pointed to the Selaka box. The young man looked steadily -across over Andromache’s shoulder, frowned a little, and admitted -grudgingly: - -“She is handsome, but not soft and sweet like my Andromache.” - -“Oh, Rudolph!” Andromache flashed on him delightedly. - -He had only the day before come back from the Peloponnesus, and in a -week he hoped to have summoned up courage to declare his honourable -bondage to the baron, and start for Austria to conclude pre-nuptial -arrangements. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -A CHORUS OF ATHENIAN MAIDENS. - - -When Constantine lighted his niece’s candle and handed it to her, he -touched Pericles on the arm and nodded. - -“I want you to smoke a cigarette with me before going to bed. I have -something to say to you.” - -Pericles suffered himself to be led into the sitting-room, and -proceeded to roll up a cigarette while his brother lighted the lamp. - -“We are agreed upon the advisability of at once marrying Inarime, I -suppose?” he began. - -“At once!” Pericles exclaimed, in alarm. - -“Why not?” - -“Think of her recent wound. She behaved so well. I cannot in conscience -so soon do wrong to the memory of her lover.” - -“Sentiment! The world only exists by ignoring it. What have the fancies -of girls to do with suitable family arrangements? I declare you are -as great a fool as the child herself. A young woman permits herself -the blamable freedom of looking complacently upon a young man who has -not been officially chosen for her. She must perforce think herself a -martyr and her guardians executioners, when it becomes necessary for -them to reprimand her and order her to withdraw her prematurely fixed -affections. Good gracious! It is preposterous. We might as well be in -England or in some equally wild place, where girls are unprotected and -forward.” - -“Whom have you in view?” Pericles quietly asked, bringing the orator -back to the point. - -“Oïdas.” - -“The Mayor! Why, he is a widower and nearly as old as myself.” - -“What does it matter? He is rich and influential. Inarime will have a -handsome house,--you know that colonnaded building near the Palace? -Well, when a man has such a house as that to offer a woman, she need -not trouble to examine the wrinkles on his forehead or the crowsfeet -under his eyes, or whether his hair be grey or black or red. All things -are relative, Pericles, even youth and beauty. It depends on the purse.” - -“But have you any proof that Kyrios Oïdas is disposed to think of my -daughter?” - -“The best possible. He told me so to-night.” - -Pericles started, and stared doubtingly at his brother. - -“You do not credit me, I see, but it is true, I assure you. He -admires her, wants a wife, asked if she had a dowry, and notified his -willingness to demand her in marriage.” - -“He is a rich man, undoubtedly,” Pericles slowly admitted, remembering -just then that Reineke had not started by considerations of the dowry. -“In his country women are bought,” he said to himself, “in ours their -husbands are purchased. It is merely an opinion on which side the -barter is more honourable.” - -“You consent then to my calling to-morrow on Oïdas with an official -communication and recognition?” - -“It is too soon,” Pericles pleaded. - -“It is never too soon to marry your child well.” - -“Perhaps you are right. I would have chosen a younger man. However, -do not precipitate matters. I must know more of this Oïdas. He is a -politician, and you know my feelings towards that class of men. It -is just possible he may be less disreputable and illiterate than the -general run. He cannot be an honourable man upon your own admission, -for he stooped to buy the influence of that reptile, Stavros.” - -“True, but all politicians do so. The greater they are, the more -unscrupulous. It is part of their _métier_, as callousness to pain is -of the surgeon’s. You have studied history and I have not; then this -fact you must have learnt.” - -“Sometimes the loose political mind may prove itself more keenly -apprehensive of correct deductions than that of the studiously trained -thinker,” Pericles rejoined, with a subtle smile. “Doubtless it is I -who am in error.” - -“This is idle wandering. I’ll grant you anything in argument, only -grant me in turn the consideration of Oïdas’ proposals and his formal -reception.” - -Pericles thought awhile, then rose and stretched his arms. - -“There will be nothing incorrect in receiving him. I cannot settle -straight off to marry Inarime to him, but I agree with you that his -proposals are worth considering. He is not the man I should have -selected, and that is why I hesitate to compromise our honour. But he -can come. I will not coerce my child. It is for her to say whether he -will stay.” - -This concession was more than Constantine had dared to hope for, -and his spirits rose to the point of exuberance next morning when -an invitation came from Madame Jarovisky’s for Inarime to attend an -afternoon party for young people given in honour of her daughter’s -birthday. - -There were about twenty young ladies and mature little girls, with a -sprinkling of boys and youths from the military and naval schools, at -Madame Jarovisky’s when Inarime entered the rooms, escorted by her -father. The chaperons retired to the salon downstairs, to refresh -themselves with tea and return to their homes, or stay and watch the -youngsters disport and play. By and by Miltiades came, that prince of -masters of ceremonies, especially invited to conduct the cotillon, and -show the small rabble how to dance the mazurka. Could a hero object -to shine and lead, even in minute and giggling society? Heavens above -us! What would be the result of an entertainment in Athens without -Miltiades? Confusion, scare, and disgrace,--worse, the privation of its -most picturesque adornment, and its crown of military glory. - -The young ladies of Athens were there in every stage, little women -dressed like dolls, flirting and pouting with grave little old men of -ten and twelve; girls in tutelage, breaking from their governess to -dance a riotous quadrille with the future defenders of their country -upon land and water; and lastly, the self-conscious and important -“demoiselles à marier,” who play Chopin’s Second Nocturne to the -desolation of those who understand Chopin, chatter ceaselessly in -indifferent French, draw flowers and keep albums for the collection of -all the heart-broken verses in European tongues. Into this lively and -flippant circle Inarime was at once whirled with voluble cordiality and -cries of frantic enthusiasm. - -Mademoiselle Eméraude Veritassi was the presiding archangel, in the -artistic setting of the expensive Antoinette. The angels were Miss -Mary Perpignani, Sappho Jarovisky, Andromache Karapolos, Proserpine -Agiropoulos, and the young ladies of the American legation. Eméraude -was the key to the general mood,--she was captain of a pliable and -sensitive band of very amiable young marauders. She welcomed Inarime -avidly, with the frankest smile and a swift approval of her toilet. The -others clustered round her and somewhat bewildered her with this sudden -introduction to noisy unmeditative girlhood. Of the mind and ways of -girls she was savagely ignorant, we know, and all these laughing faces -and softly brilliant glances, turned upon her, shook her with surprise -and terror. Could it be that she was one of them and so aloof, so -absolutely unlike and out of sympathy with them? Joy and vigour were -abounding in them, the susceptible and intoxicating blood of youth and -its untamable pulses, gave fire to their eyes and chased reflection -from their minds. When they danced together, or with boys of their -own age, their steps sprang over the polished floor with the urgent -impetuosity of their years. When they stood near her, and panted and -laughed between their gasping speech, she felt as the Peri might, -gazing upon happiness afar. - -She envied these absurd and frivolous maidens, envied them -their untroubled youth,--beside which her own looked sad and -grey-toned,--their free hearts and meaningless laughter, their -twinkling feet and innocent sentimentality. - -“You do not dance,” said Eméraude, pausing beside her after a wild -waltz, with fluttering bosom, like a pursued bird. - -“I have never danced. I have never met girls before,” Inarime answered, -with a sharp note of regret in her voice. - -Imagine the consternation and the wonder on the faces around her. -Eméraude was naturally spokeswoman for the party. She expressed an -opinion that the conversation should be carried on in Greek instead of -French. - -“Then we shall have to speak our best Greek,” cried Sappho, having -heard of Inarime’s learning. “Mademoiselle Selaka speaks the language -of Plutarch.” - -“Oh, no,” exclaimed Inarime, with a deprecating smile. “I have -the current Athenian at your service. Except with my father, I am -accustomed to speak the rough brogue of our island.” - -“There is just the faintest perceptible tinge of the Archipelago in -your accent,” affirmed Eméraude, authoritatively. “This is your first -visit to Athens?” - -“My first.” - -“Oh, are you not happy to be here?” carolled Andromache. “Athens--ah! -it is so lovely. I could not leave it.” - -“Tell us of your life in Tenos,” said Eméraude, taking up the dominant -melody of the concerto, and at once the chorus of followers pressed -their captain’s demand with an inarticulate cry of accentuated -agreement. - -“It is very simple. I read and walk with my father, and when not thus -occupied, I help Annunziata in housework or I write letters for the -villagers.” - -“Annunziata! That is a pretty name. Italian?” - -“She is Greek, of remotely Italian origin.” - -“And why do you write letters for the villagers?” asked Sappho. “Can -they not write themselves?” - -“None of the women in the villages of Lutra, Xinara, or Mousoulou can -write but myself.” - -“How marvellous!” exclaimed Miss Perpignani, and the girls wore a look -of interjection. - -“Are there goats?” - -Inarime stared a little at such an obviously foolish question. Her -steady luminous gaze struck chill upon the volatile young circle, and -for an instant checked their chatter. Then some one broke the uneasy -silence. - -“How about your dresses? You must leave Tenos when you want new -clothes. This pretty frock is surely Athenian.” - -“Yes, that is because I am here, and my uncle wishes me to be dressed -like everybody else, but hitherto I have had my dresses made at Tenos. -They are well made too.” - -“Not possible! Like ours, in the modern fashion?” - -Inarime lightly scanned the costumes round her. - -“I do not think Tenos could produce anything like these,” she said, -simply, “but then we would not know what to do with them over there.” - -“Do you live far from the town?” - -“Yes, a good way. It takes nearly three hours by mule.” - -“I suppose you have no carriages in Tenos?” - -“There are no roads to begin with, and in consequence no vehicles of -any sort. It is a very rough, wild place.” - -“And now you have come to Athens to be married,” concluded Eméraude. -“Do you look forward to marriage?” - -A dusky colour shot up into Inarime’s face like a hidden flame. She -fixed her eyes slowly on Mademoiselle Veritassi. - -“If it is my father’s wish that I should marry, it will be my duty to -obey him, but I trust he will not ask it of me.” - -Another look of wondering consternation flashed over the circle. Not -wish to marry! have a house of her own and take precedence of unmarried -girls! be somebody in social life, give parties and travel! - -“I thought all girls liked the notion of getting married,” remarked -Miss Mary Perpignani. “It is so dull to be unmarried, not to be able to -go out alone, or to go to Antoinette’s and order what you like. Just -think how delightful it must be to be free, like a young man, and do -all sorts of lovely naughty things, dance twice if you like with the -handsomest officer without any one to tell you it is not _convenable_, -and read all the dreadful French novels. We poor girls are so harassed -with that horrid word _convenable_. To see little boys at the age of -ten allowed to stand on their heads and we, aching for liberty, not -allowed to budge at thirty if we are not married!” - -“Oh, shocking to think of, as the English say,” cried Sappho, clapping -her hands to her ears to shut out the spoken description. “We are -martyrs, we unhappy girls.” - -“Your faces belie your misery,” said Inarime, gravely. - -“Que voulez-vous, Mademoiselle?” Eméraude retorted, gaily, “nous -autres, nous sommes á peu près Françaises. Il faut être bien mis et -savoir rire malgré tout. Avent de me tuer, je mettrai ma plus jolie -robe.” - -“Oh, ma chère, ma chère,” the shocked angels chorussed. Then turning to -Inarime, one of them soothed her perplexity. - -“Don’t pay any heed to the exaggerations of Eméraude. She likes to -frighten people. She talks that way, but she means nothing. Comme tu -sais blaguer, Eméraude.” - -“Mais, point du tout. Je suis sérieuse. Qu’est ce que serait la vie -si l’on ne savait pas se moquer de ses chagrins, au lieu de s’en -attrister?” protested Eméraude. - -“I applaud your sentiment. Cheerfulness I should imagine to be the -lesson of life and our highest aspiration,” said Inarime. - -“It is not mine, assuredly,” cried Sappho. “My dream is excitement--oh, -but the excitement that consumes and fills up every hour, waking -and sleeping. I should adore being married to a man I hated, rich, -powerful and commanding, of whom I was desperately afraid, and to be -in love with a poor, divinely beautiful young officer. To think of -the thrilling terrors and consuming bliss of meetings at parties, at -theatres, in picture galleries, horribly shadowed by a jealous husband, -only time to whisper a hurried greeting and look into each other’s -eyes----” - -Be assured this rash prospective sinner was in mind as innocent of a -sinister meaning as in limpid gaze. Mademoiselle Veritassi measured her -scornfully. - -“You have probably been taking your first plunge into Feuillet in -secret, and are talking of what you do not in the least understand. -You would find your young officer a complete idiot, and his divinely -beautiful face would soon enough pall on you. Love, romantic or -otherwise, will not be my domain. I aspire to marry a man of moderate -intelligence, pliable, of the world and of the best tone, with the -doors of a foreign embassy open to him, whom I shall mould and lead, -and whose fortune I shall make. My dream is more legitimate, though -from the purely masculine point of view, hardly less incorrect than -Sappho’s.” - -“And yours?” Andromache asked shyly of Inarime. - -“Mine? I have none. I have not felt the need for excitement or novelty. -My quiet, uneventful life has hitherto amply satisfied me--until -lately, until quite lately,” she added, with a slight break in her -voice. - -Mademoiselle Veritassi scrutinised her through narrowed lids, and -smiled imperceptibly. - -“You speak German, I am told, fluently. I presume you had a governess.” - -“No, my father was my tutor. He taught me everything that I know.” - -“Your father! and no governess! And embroidery, music, drawing and the -rest?” Mademoiselle Veritassi gasped. - -“I know nothing of such graceful accomplishments. With books I am -acquainted, and though I have never measured my speed with any -other girl’s, my father tells me I am a swift runner. But girls so -brilliantly finished as you will laugh to hear me speak of running.” - -“No, no. It is charming. A modern Atlanta. You are truly a divine -creature. As for us, our futile accomplishments are mere gossamer -wings to skim to social heights for which we are destined. There they -drop from us, and their instability is their only charm. Yours are of -solider weight, with the merit of corresponding permanence.” - -“It is kind of you to reassure me thus, but I know my value. I am only -a bookish peasant.” - -“Eméraude is right,” Miss Perpignani cooed, caressingly. “You are a -divine creature--beautiful as a picture.” - -Inarime glanced pitifully at the youthful leader whose voice to these -girls was as the voice of fame. Her own intellect was rare, and her -knowledge profound, and yet she was humiliated and acutely conscious of -her inferiority to this dainty damsel, who fluttered and flirted her -fragile fan with inimitable grace, and wore her girlhood with an air of -sovereignty that came of twenty years’ sway at home and abroad. We may -divine that it was the extreme fastidiousness of the heiress and only -child that allowed her to reach twenty unclaimed. - -“You have but to wish it to outstrip us all on our own ground. But, I -beseech you, spare us. Think what rivalry with you would mean for us. -The sun above the stars. Be content with your beauty and your books, -and do not ask to descend to the mere social arena. For me, I ask -nothing better than to be your friend.” - -The little ones had come to the end of their hour of rhythmic movement, -and Miltiades, beaming in the splendour of black and gold, was -officiously telling off the couples for the cotillon. He approached the -girls, and asked if Mademoiselle Selaka would dance. Inarime shook her -head. - -“Do, do, dear Inarime--may I?” pleaded Mademoiselle Veritassi. “It will -give us all such pleasure to watch you.” - -“Yes, yes,” chorused the followers. - -“But I cannot dance, alas!” Inarime murmured. - -“Your voice is like velvet, and yet clear though so softly murmurous. -Do not fear. It is quite simple. Pray be persuaded. Captain Karapolos -will guide you.” - -Inarime suffered herself to be led across the room to the spot where -the couples were noisily forming themselves. Just then she saw Rudolph -Ehrenstein enter with the Baroness von Hohenfels on his arm, who -surveyed the young people through her _face-à-main_ with a complacent -smile. The smile intensified when Inarime came under its rays, while -Rudolph and Andromache were looking far too eloquently at each other. -Inarime understood the mute avowal of momently wedded orbs, and a -thrill of remembered delight and anguish swept over her like a blast. - -O bliss too fleeting, and O pain too sweet! - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -FORESHADOWING A CRISIS IN RUDOLPH’S CAREER. - - -The constant dropping of the waters of opposition upon the stone of -Pericles’ obstinacy showed the proverbial result. It was worn away -in a few days, at the end of which time he yielded to his brother’s -persuasions and admitted that a daughter is a ticklish charge for one -sane man, only armed with the controlling influences of a father. -His girl, he at first argued, was not quite as other girls--she was -steadfast, sincere and earnest. He had not yet perceived any tendency -in her to the sex’s frantic moodishness and dizzy variations. True, -the god Cupid had mastered her at a single glance with alarming -urgence. But an antique-modern Greek found excuse in his heart for -the headstrong vagaries of the eternally youthful god. He announced -himself ready to transfer his responsibilities to Oïdas, if he proved -acceptable to Inarime. He was not exuberant at the prospect, nor in the -least hurry. But he permitted Oïdas to visit with prospectively nuptial -intentions, and left the rest to the gods. - -Oïdas came. He came very often, hardly noticed by Inarime, beyond the -fact that his coming provided her with flowers, and that he frequently -conducted her to the theatre where she heard the surfeiting honey -strains of Bellini and Verdi, and to the Saturday concerts at the -Parnassus Club of which he was president, where Bellini and Verdi were -also in the ascendant. - -“Have you any feeling towards Kyrios Oïdas?” her father once ventured -to ask. - -“Feeling! I have not remarked him specially. He is polite, but I should -imagine not interesting,” Inarime replied. - -“Ah!” interjected Selaka, with an air of partial self-commiseration. -Having made up his mind after prolonged doubting upon so minor a point, -to accept Oïdas for a son-in-law, it was disconcerting to learn that -the chosen one had made none but a very dubious impression upon the -principal personage of the duet. - -He lightly dismissed the fact as another proof of the singular and -incorrigible perversity of woman, not even to be counteracted by such -anomalous training and education as he had given this particular one. - -Not to be out of the fashion, the Baroness von Hohenfels had -rapturously taken up the new beauty. Inarime was frequently invited to -the Austrian Embassy, and her acquaintance with Mademoiselle Veritassi -and her band progressed to intimacy. The delight of joyous youth that -lives unthinkingly upon the beating of its own pulses struck dormant -rays from her closed nature. She shook off the shadow of her own calm -past and emerged from gloom, a radiant being, now and then weighted -with her recent heavy bereavement, only to rebound again into realms -of intoxicating instability. The friction of her natural forces with -these laughing creatures urged her upward, and a return to the desolate -solitude of a world unblessed by the presence of her lover, left her -amazed, incredulous and giddy. - -The trashy music she had heard struck her as enchantment, until -Mademoiselle Veritassi chilled her enthusiasm. - -“Do you sometimes go to the theatre?” she queried. - -“Here?” - -“Yes.” - -“Mon Dieu! When I want to go to the theatre, I go to Paris or Vienna,” -said Mademoiselle Veritassi, superciliously. - -“Is it not good here?” - -“It is vulgar rubbish--good enough for the Athenians, but not for those -who have heard music and seen acting. My child, you have yet to see a -theatre.” - -This was food for reflection, and another proof of her inferiority to -these bewildering nymphs of society. The next time Oïdas made soft -proposals touching Verdi and Bellini, Inarime curtly declined them. - -“I have intimated to Kyrios Oïdas my entire willingness to receive him -into my family,” said Pericles one day to his brother. “It now remains -for him to try his fortunes with Inarime, to whom I shall previously -communicate his intentions. But I desire that the matter may be -speedily settled. This frivolous, noisy existence wearies me. I yearn -for my books and the quiet of my mountain home.” - -“But are you not pledged to attend the meeting of the German School -which takes place in ten days?” - -“I will come back for it. Besides, Annunziata writes for my immediate -presence. The steward is not giving satisfaction.” - -Inarime entered, modernised beyond recognition in a flimsy grey silk -gown slashed with crimson and shaded greens, a belt from which depended -ribbons of these mixed hues that floated in the breeze and arrested the -distracted glance, with hair which swelled above the mild brow to a -pyramidal crown of shadow and threw out bronze and bluish lights, its -rippling massy softness in complete harmony with the equable, studious -face. - -“Why thus early decked in bird of Paradise hues?” laughed Selaka, -quietly. - -“Mademoiselle Veritassi and her brother are to call for me shortly.” - -“Ah, I forgot. You grow dissipated, my dear. It seems to me your books -are now quite forsaken for the society of these chattering young -persons. Voices, voices, voices, and meaningless laughter I hear as I -pass you in the salon. What in heaven’s name have they to say?” - -“Well, not much that is worth listening to, I am afraid,” Inarime -admitted, with a little apologetic smile. “And they fly from one -subject to another so quickly, exchange interjections and telegraphic -remarks, scattered phrase with sharp hiatus till I am compelled to give -up all hope of following them, having missed their airy education. But -the sound of their voices is pretty to the ear--that is, not the sound -itself, but its suggestions.” - -“Then you are satisfied that you have enough amiable reminiscences -to carry back with you to the solitudes of Tenos?” Pericles -half-commented, just looking at Constantine to signify his wish to be -left alone with his daughter. - -Inarime sighed. Tenos seemed so very far away from her. - -“We are going back, my child. Do you not rejoice?” - -“Back! So soon! You have enjoyed your visit, father?” - -“It is for you to decide. Your pleasure is mine, dearest.” - -Her face clouded. Confronted with her ruthlessly severed heart the -phrase sounded hollow. - -“I have almost forgotten that I was unhappy,” she whispered. - -Pericles gazed at her in amazement. He would have staked his life on -this girl’s stability and firmness. Here was a curious proof of the -inexplicable lightness and variability of the feminine temper. Who was -to sound its depths or follow its breathless changes? Man, he concluded -(not originally, who can be original on the theme?) treads a mine when -he essays to read the book of woman, even in the chapter of his own -daughter. The simplest page holds promise of explosion and surprise. -Philosophy shrinks from the task, as beyond the hard unimaginative male -intelligence. - -“You wish to remain here?” he interrogated. - -“I think I do,” she breathed through her teeth reluctantly. “To return -to Tenos would mean so much for me. It was good of you, father, to give -me this change.” - -“Well, well,” Selaka interposed, with a disappointed air. “Happily -the emotions of your strange sex are ever ready to come to your aid. -Sorrow is not incurable, because you answer so readily to the spur -of distraction. Perhaps you will bend as compliantly to the sound of -wedding-bells.” - -“No, I will not,” she retorted, harshly. - -“If I ask it, Inarime?” he bent forward. - -“It would not be fair. You have the right to dispose of me, I know, but -I ought not to be tried beyond my strength.” - -“Do not speak as if it were possible I should be other than your -best friend, with your interests exclusively my own,” protested -Selaka, affectionately. “But it is the duty of the old to remember -the future for the young. Marriage is the natural termination of a -girl’s irresponsible existence. I, as your guardian, am bound to find -you a suitable mate. You mentioned just now that here at Athens you -had forgotten that you were unhappy. That struck me as a singularly -pregnant observation--it felicitously summed up your sex. What then -can there be objectionable in my proposal to settle you permanently at -Athens?” - -He awaited her reply as if he expected compliance. - -“I spoke of change preluding a return to the old life. It pleased me -to feel that I had pushed it away from me for awhile, that I was aloof -from it, beholding entirely new scenes and hearing foreign voices. That -change I know I wanted to keep me from a merely whimpering discontent. -I wish to be strong, father, and hate to succumb to weakness.” - -“Prove your wish for strength by casting from you sentimental -chains. Your objection is purely sentimental. Remember the lesson -of the ancients. We perceive the ideal, and hasten to make our best -compromise with the actual. Love is the unattainable draught. We are -sometimes permitted to bring our lips within measurable distance from -the rim of the bowl, and then it is withdrawn. Some of us are given one -sip of the nectar and must go thirsty ever afterwards. We live the life -of the flesh, which is common and crude enough, and nourish our starved -spirit upon memory. That is the lesson of experience, but we need not, -for that, feel ourselves curtained off from cheerfulness and contented -labour.” - -He watched her attentively. All the light had fled from her face. - -“You wish me to marry Kyrios Oïdas,” she said, after a pause. - -“You have rightly guessed. He is not a scholar, I have to admit, and a -modern politician does not fill me with admiration; but he is wealthy, -and will take care of you. It will be for you to shine, and I dare say -he will be proud enough of you.” - -“If he were a scholar I could understand,” she exclaimed. “But simple -money! Father, you are not material. You are not tired of me?” - -“Tired? I? Of you?” - -Pericles fondled her hand, and laughed. - -“But you wish me to leave you for this man, who is only rich.” - -“I shall not live forever, and a husband will be your proper protector. -Poverty would not be a recommendation in a suitor, I imagine.” - -“But you are not so old, and there are long days before us.” - -“Who knows? I have been warned of late that I am not very strong. It -is decided. You must marry.” - -“Kyrios Oïdas?” - -“I am compromised--pledged.” - -She bent her head, and at that moment the bell announced the arrival of -her friends. - -The Baroness von Hohenfels, hearing of Selaka’s intended departure and -a meditated return for the meeting of the German School, called and -warmly pressed Inarime to stay with her during M. Selaka’s absence. -She would not hear of refusal. There was a room at the Embassy at -Mademoiselle Selaka’s disposal; her friends would be desolated to lose -her so soon--in fact, she must come. - -“You will not have time to miss me, Inarime,” Pericles sang out -cheerily from the doorstep, as she drove away in the Baroness’s -carriage, her engagement still hanging in the balance of indecision. -She had some faint hope of consulting the baroness, and seeking -strength and resolution in her judgment. - -Inarime took the Austrian Embassy by storm. That evening Rudolph -returned from a short absence at Vienna, where he had been bound -on pre-nuptial affairs, intending to startle his family by the -announcement of his engagement to Andromache and his determination to -marry immediately. Tongues were already set wagging, and vague and -disconcerting reports had reached the baron and baroness. But their -faith was built on the genius of Mademoiselle Veritassi. Rudolph might -waver and glory in other chains of captivity, but he would end by -sullenly admitting the superlative charm and conquering force of the -girl of fashion. - -He came back, saw Inarime, fell prostrate in new adoration, tugged -with feeble heart-strings by the soft glimmer of the March violets he -remorsefully shrank from seeking. - -The diplomatic baron, too, stumbled into captivity, assisted in his -fall by the baroness, herself under the spell of Inarime’s beauty. -Indeed, not one of the three had shown a spark of resistance. - -The heavy ambassador danced hourly attendance upon the young goddess, -and under her glance, sparkled, astounded spectators by feats of -chivalry and semi-veiled gallantry that turned the clock of time for -him back by twenty years. Ah, but his enslavement was not a serious -defection. There was the wretched Rudolph, held breathless by his own -faithlessness and variable heart-beats. The feeling he gave Andromache -was but a rushlight, compared with this blaze of fire. He slept not, -nor did he eat. Life died within him out of Inarime’s presence, and was -flame in his members when she was near him. The old fancy dropped from -him like a toy; this was a consuming need, a poignant hunger with his -uprising, and a hunger with added thirst upon his lying down. - -To Inarime he was merely a dull and pretty boy to whom it behoved her -to show some kindness and forbearance. His gloomy blue eyes fixed -silently upon her, vaguely irritated her, and she put command into -hers to check their persistent following. Still she preferred him to -his uncle, whose gallant attentions and man-of-the-world deference -vexed and fretted her. His was a novel language to her, and she -hesitated to read it lest there might be studied insult beneath it. -From the baroness she heard of Rudolph’s unfortunate entanglement -with Andromache, and upon pressure of confidence, admitted her -father’s desire to see her married to Oïdas, whom she did not like -or even moderately esteem. She imagined Rudolph forcibly separated -from Andromache, and read in that fact his evident unhappiness, -which appealed to her for sympathy and touched her with the wand of -brotherhood. - -Photini was invited to play for her pleasure, and this introduction to -the highest music was astonishment to her. Her fine nature recognised -mastery, though the riddle was unexplained to her senses. She could -not at a leap mount such heights of sound, where the melodies seemed -to disport in waves and thunder, with sprays of foam and the facets of -jewels. She approached Photini for help. - -Photini measured her mercilessly with her formidable gaze,--dwelt on -her physical exquisiteness, and smiled sardonically. - -“You have beauty, mademoiselle. Be thankful for that, and leave art to -those who have souls to comprehend it.” - -“Finger-tips as well, and perseverance,” said Inarime, archly. - -“Oh, I see. You are not a doll. Well, come to see me any morning, and -I’ll play till your ears ache.” - -Photini turned on her heel, and beckoned to Rudolph, who gloomily -trotted after her into the conservatory. - -Selaka returned to Athens for the meeting of German archæologists, and -was cordially invited to stay for a few days at the Austrian Embassy. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -A MEETING ON THE ACROPOLIS. - - -March came and went in a whirlwind of storm and rain that lasted a -fortnight. Every one susceptible to atmospheric influences was ill and -unhappy, and the wind sobbed and shrieked like the ghosts of centuries -crying to be laid. And now, on this first evening, the storm went down, -with a little sigh running through the quieted air, like a child’s -remembered sob in dreaming. The orange and lemon trees were in full -blossom, and the Palace gardens wore “the glory and the freshness of a -dream.” - -Gustav Reineke stood between the pillars of the Parthenon and watched -the sky after sunset. The zenith was clear purple upon which light -clouds traced along milky way with edges torn into threadlets of white -that curled and lost themselves, shading off to rose upon the eastern -horizon. He watched cream deepen into orange, and spread a mist upon -the blue, and the azure faint into pearly grey, while the cirrhus arch -shifted itself slowly, and dropped behind the hills. The west was a -lake of unsullied gold, so pure that the eye could follow the birth of -cloud-stains upon it and the flames of crimson and orange striking fire -from its heart. Over Lycabettus shone a tremulous radiance, half pink, -half opal, and above the blue was shot with silver and green. Upon the -hills the shadows were sharply defined by broken lines of light, and -the sea under Salamis was a waveless blue gloom. - -Gustav had done brave battle with woe, and wore his sorrow nobly. -There was nothing of the crushed air of the love-sick swain about -him. He stood up straight, and faced the light of day with mournful -calm eyes and strong lips, patiently awaiting the revocation of his -sentence or its confirmation, and for the moment gave himself entirely -up to the study of archæology. He had come that morning to Athens upon -invitation, to attend the meeting of the German School of Archæology. - -While Gustav is sky-gazing with an open volume of Pausanias in his -hand, another young friend of ours is crossing Constitution Square -with the intention of strolling towards the Acropolis. Ten days back -in Athens, and not one glimpse of Andromache! Very unlike a lover -restored to the arms of his mistress does he look, sauntering along -with his hands in his pockets and an expression of miserable perplexity -on his face. An airy, wide-awake individual, with an anemone in his -button-hole, and a glass in his eye, accosts him noisily, and quickly -scanning him, remarks aloud upon the utter dejection of his air. - -“Ah, Tonton, je suis épris--cette fois pour de bon,” cried Rudolph, -desirous of horrifying somebody else as well as himself. - -“Encore? Est-ce possible? Vrai?” ejaculated Agiropoulos. - -“C’est très vrai.” - -“Allons donc, mon cher! Faut-il te féliciter? Epris pour la troisième -fois dans autant de mois! Mais c’est effrayant!” - -Rudolph’s eyes swept the landscape in dreary assent. He thought it very -frightful indeed. - -“Pauvre Photini! Pauvre Andromaque,” cried Agiropoulos, taking off his -hat and running his plump hand over his well-shorn head, “et pauvre--la -dernière. Elle sera toujours à plaindre, celle-là.” - -“Dis plutôt, pauvre Rudolph!” said Ehrenstein, ruefully. - -“Eh, je le dis, mon cher, de bon cœur,” said Agiropoulos, with a -reassuring nod and an enigmatic smile, as he turned on his heel, and -stopped to discuss Ehrenstein’s lamentable susceptibility with his next -acquaintance. - -Can this really be our fastidious Rudolph, who has held the above -indelicate dialogue with a man he hitherto professed to despise? Has -he grown in a few months both cynical and hardened? But the cynicism -was only surface deep. This search for an anchor to his affections -and the discovery he had made that his emotions and his judgment were -unreliable, his heart as unstable as water, wrecked all self-esteem, -and left him in a battered condition of mind. He felt as if he had been -morally whipped by scorpions, and every nerve within him was bruised. - -First Photini, then Andromache, dear, sweet Andromache! how his heart -bled for her! that he should be so unworthy of her! And She? the other -She! the final, unattainable She, whose looks ran fire through his -veins and held him in humble unexacting servitude? - -He came out to walk and meditate. Could he have chosen a more -favourable road for meditation than the wide avenue of pepper-trees, -that leads by a gentle upward slope to the cactus-bordered hill, upon -which the glorious Parthenon rests? Of the nature of his reflections, -as he strolled along that famous route, I cannot say much. I imagine -they were hazy, like the inarticulate speech of an infant. He wanted -something, but for the life of him he could not have put that something -into shape or definite speech. Like Hercules, his way was barred by -two female forms--only one of whom, however, offered him a direct -invitation. And Photini? - -And thus these two met, and falling into accidental conversation, which -resulted in an exchange of cards, Rudolph learnt that this was Herr -Reineke, the distinguished Greek scholar, whose card his aunt had found -awaiting her on her return from a drive that morning. Anything was -better to Rudolph than that meditation in pursuit of which he had come -out expressly, so he warmly pressed Reineke to come back to the Embassy -with him. Reineke took a fancy to the frank and high-bred lad, and -gladly consented to do so. - -On their way he learnt some very original and curious views upon the -Ancient Greeks, and his national vanity was flattered by hearing this -discontented youth describe the Modern Greeks as worse than the Jews, -and express his entire sympathy with the Turks--a thorough gentlemanly -race in his opinion. Gustav assented, but claimed an exception for one -or two of the modern Greeks, and at this point they reached the Embassy. - -The young man found everybody out, so Rudolph carried off Reineke -to a little salon only used in private life. Here the baroness wrote -her letters, and here Inarime had sat that morning with a book and a -pencil in her hand. Rudolph ordered coffee and cigars, and selected for -himself Inarime’s seat. He took up her book, and remembered enough of -his Greek to know that it was a volume of the Sicilian Idyllists. He -recognised the names Theocritus, Bion and Moschus, but the rest was a -blank to him. In turning over the leaves, a sheet of paper dropped out, -and this contained writing. He examined it carefully, and was struck -with its exquisite caligraphy. - -“Can you read Greek--modern?” he asked of Gustav, who was looking idly -out of the window. - -“Yes,” he answered, turning his face round. - -“Please translate that for me,” cried Rudolph excitedly. Gustav -extended his hand for the paper, glanced at it carelessly, and read -half-finished verses in classical Greek, which baldly translated read -something like this:-- - - - “O let me not in this grief fail. - Dear Gods, upon me glance! - For hearts with troubles slowly veil - Hope in remembrance. - - “I would not that thy life were sad - Because of our drear fate, - Nor would I have thee wholly glad - While I am forced to wait.” - - -The lines ended here, and Gustav read them over again, a dim -presentiment quickening his pulses. Selaka had shown him Inarime’s -writing, beautiful, finished, like those delicate manuscripts which we -have inherited from the old days of cloistered leisure. Surely this was -the work of the same hand, and the quiet sadness of the verses swept -him like a message from the dead. - -“Do you know who wrote this?” he asked slowly. - -“Yes,” Rudolph answered, indisposed to be communicative. - -“A lady?” - -“You think the handwriting a lady’s?” - -“I do. I fancy I have seen it before.” - -“Let me see. Were you not staying for a short time on one of the Greek -islands?” - -“Yes; Tenos.” - -“Then you perhaps met her. Oh, I am sure of it now,” cried Rudolph, -springing up and glaring into Reineke’s face. - -Reineke said nothing, but bent his eyes reverently upon the sheet of -paper. Might he steal it? If he had been alone he would have kissed it. - -“Why don’t you answer me, Herr Reineke?” Rudolph persisted. - -“Answer you? What?” - -“There is somebody else, I know. I learnt it the other night. Tell me. -Is it you?” he demanded. - -“Herr Ehrenstein, is it too much to beg an explanation of these -somewhat enigmatic questions?” retorted Gustav. - -But Ehrenstein eagerly noted that his eyes never once left the piece of -paper in his hand. - -“It is unworthy to trifle with me in this way. I see that you know her, -and that you understand too well the meaning of those lines. They are -perhaps addressed to you.” - -“And if it were so?” said Gustav, coldly. - -“It would be better to know it at once. Anything would be better than -this suspense. Listen, I will tell you something I overheard one night -in a conversation between my uncle and her father.” - -“Her father? Is Selaka here?” cried Gustav. - -“He is. And so is she.” - -“She! here? In this house? Now?” exclaimed Gustav, jumping up. - -“She is out now with my aunt. They will be back soon.” - -“Good God!” muttered Reineke, sitting down, and holding his head in his -hands. “Should I go--or shall I stay?” - -“Then you are the man. Listen to what I heard last night. My uncle told -Selaka that he would be glad to see his daughter my wife--oh, don’t -fly into a rage, we are not engaged, and I see by your angry smile you -don’t think it likely to come to pass. Well, Selaka said he liked me, -and in his estimation, my birth and social position were a set-off -against my deficiencies in classical lore. But there is an impediment. -His daughter has recently made the heaviest sacrifice a woman can make -for her father, and he could not pain her by asking her to choose a -successor to the lover she gave up for him. You are the lover, I know. -Why did she give you up?” - -“Because I am a Turk.” - -“A Turk! You!” - -Rudolph burst into a harsh laugh, and stopped suddenly when his ear -caught the sound of a carriage drawn up outside. He glanced quickly out -of the window. - -“She has come, Monsieur le Sultan,” he announced, sarcastically. - -Both men stood still, and rapid steps approached. Through the half-open -door the flutter of silken raiment was heard brushing the floor, and -the baroness stood before them, looking courteous interrogation. - -“This is Herr Reineke,” said Rudolph, in German. - -“Oh, M. Reineke,” the baroness exclaimed, in French. “This is indeed -a pleasure. You will stay and dine with us in a friendly way. No -ceremony. The baron will keep you company in morning attire. It will be -delightful, as the unexpected always is.” - -Gustav declined politely, and glanced beyond her. There stood Inarime -with a look of unmistakable rapture and alarm upon her face. - -The baroness introduced them; they bowed, but did not dare trust -themselves to speech or hand-clasp. - -“Must you go at once, Herr Reineke?” asked the baroness, remarking the -glory on his face. - -“Madame, I must,” he said, and Rudolph saw that Inarime started -violently, as if the sound of his voice thrilled her like pain. - -Reineke shook hands with the baroness, not conscious that he was making -all sorts of impossible promises, and then turned silently to the -mute, harrowing eloquence of Inarime’s gaze, with one as unbearable in -its piercing tenderness. Rudolph accompanied him downstairs and said -nothing until Reineke held out his hand at the door. - -“No, I cannot touch your hand, Herr Reineke. We must not meet again,” -he said, grimly. - -“As you wish, Herr Ehrenstein. I am sorry for you, but, as you see, I -have not much cause for self-congratulation for myself.” - -Rudolph said nothing, and flung away from him. - -In the little salon he found Inarime alone, with her head bent down -upon the table over her folded arms. - -“You love that man, Fraulein?” he asked in German, which she spoke more -fluently than French. - -“I do,” she said, simply, hardly troubled by the impertinence of the -question. - -“And there is no chance--none--for me?” - -“I do not understand you, Herr Ehrenstein.” - -Did she even hear him, as she stared out with that intense look -strained beyond her prison through the bright streets traversed by -Gustav? - -“I, too, love you, Fraulein. I would die for you. You have taken from -me my rest, my happiness, my self-respect. Everything I yield to -you--honour, manhood, independence. Gladly will I accept slavery at -your bidding. I care for nothing but you. Is there no hope for me? Your -father will approve my suit.--_He_ is banished.” - -Inarime gazed scorn and loathing upon him. There were hardly words -strong enough with which to reject such an offer, so made and at such a -time. - -“Leave me, Herr Ehrenstein. You force me abruptly to terminate my stay -under your uncle’s roof.” - -She turned her back upon him, and when he broke out into fierce and -incoherent apologies, she swept past him out of the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -A DRAUGHT FROM CIRCE’S CUP. - - -There was no hope for it. Harmony fled the Austrian Embassy. It had -already been bruited that young Ehrenstein was inconveniently demanded -by a bloodthirsty warrior, whose sister he had jilted in a scandalous -way. The report reached Selaka’s ear, and he looked askance upon the -perfidious youth. At first the baron dismissed the affair with a laugh, -then, upon scandal mounting higher, and taking a shriller tone, he -questioned Rudolph, and being a gentleman, expressed himself in very -strong terms upon the young reprobate’s conduct. - -Rudolph had sulked and fretted and made everybody around him only a -degree less uncomfortable than himself. Twice he had started to go to -Andromache and confess the full extent of his iniquity, but he had not -had the courage to face the ordeal. If she should cry, or reproach -him, or meet him with sad silence! it would be equally unbearable, and -there would be nothing left for him but to go away and cut his throat. -What was the good of anything? Life was a blunder, a fret, a torment. -Without any evil in him, kindly, pure, sweet natured, here was he -involved in a mesh of inextricable troubles, behaving to a dear and -innocent child like an arrant villain. And all the while his heart -bled for her, and in any moment left him by the haunting thought of -Inarime, he was pursued by the soft pain of Andromache’s pretty eyes. - -But every one blamed him, and all Athens spoke of him as a heartless -scoundrel. The baroness, who was coldly condemnatory, suggested a -return to Austria. The baron, sarcastic, plagued him in the “I warned -you” tone. - -“You are much too sentimental and susceptible, Rudolph, for a life of -idleness. You have yet to learn the art of trifling gracefully and -uncompromisingly. Remember, a man has not to choose between being -a victim or a brute. You have proved yourself both to that little -Athenian--first the victim and then the brute. Now, my advice to -you is, go back to Rapoldenkirchen. Meditate instructively upon the -excellent advantages you have had here, and resolve to continue your -education in matters feminine with the married ladies. Avoid girls -as you would avoid poison, until you are ready to fix yourself in -reasonable harness with one particular girl, whom I advise you to -choose as little as possible like yourself. Vienna or Paris will be -of infinite service to you just now, and if you like, I could use -my influence to obtain you a diplomatic post. As long as you remain -in this state of lamentable idleness, so long will your life be -precarious.” - -But this excellent counsel had fallen on dull ears. An hour after -Inarime’s rejection, Rudolph started to go to Andromache, and instead -of cutting through Academy Street, as he should have done, he turned up -towards the barrack, and before even he was aware of the propelling -instinct that pushed him, he was knocking at Photini’s door. - -“Is Mademoiselle Natzelhuber visible?” he asked of Polyxena, with an -indifference of look and tone not at all assumed. - -“She is upstairs, if that is what you mean,” cried Polyxena, and left -him to shut the door behind him. - -He walked up the steep stone stairs without a sign of hurry or purpose, -and rapped listlessly at Photini’s door. In response to a loud “Come -in,” he entered, and found Photini in the midst of her cats and dogs, -reading the “Palingenesia.” She threw away the shabby little newspaper, -and made room for him on the sofa beside her, eyeing him with a look of -sharp scrutiny. - -“Well?” she said. - -“I am most abjectly miserable, Photini,” he said, and sat down beside -her, staring at the floor. - -“You look it, my friend.” - -“I suppose so. Photini, I want you to let me stay with you.” - -“Stay with me! What the deuce do you mean?” - -“Just what I say. There are no words to describe my wretchedness. I am -sick of everything and everybody. You, at least, won’t criticise or -blame. Your own life has not been so successful that you need censure -very harshly the blunders of mine.” - -He looked at her drearily, unnotingly, and yet he felt drawn to her by -an immense personal sympathy and a kind of remembered affection that -nothing could ever quite obliterate. - -“Oh, for that, I am not disposed to censure any one but the smug -hypocrites, who talk religion and virtue until one longs to fling -something in their faces. For the idiots I have a tremendous weakness, -I confess.” - -“You care a little for me, don’t you, Photini?” Rudolph cried, like a -forsaken child. - -Photini moved towards him, and gathered him into her arms. - -“I love you furiously, you wretched boy,” she exclaimed, and held him -to her. “But just because you are an idiot, you are not to pay any heed -to it.” - -Rudolph for answer flung his arms round her, laid his head upon her -bosom, and burst into wild hysteric sobs. - -“Oh, you baby!” shouted Photini, trying to shake him off, but he only -clung to her the more convulsively, and tightened his clasp of her -until she could hardly breathe. - -“Finish! this is absurd. What has happened to you, child?” - -“Everybody is against me,” he said, striving hard to choke back his -tears. “I hate myself. I have made a mess of everything, and I wish I -were dead.” - -“That is why you have come to me, I suppose. If you are destined to be -damned in the next world, you are willing to begin the operation in -this,” said Photini, drily. - -“I want to stay with you. If you repulse me, Photini, I swear I’ll go -straightway and blow my brains out.” - -“It would not be much worse.” - -“Than staying with you?” - -“Yes, than staying with me. The one would be followed by an inquest -and a funeral--and behold a swift and respectable end. The other--my -friend, have you measured its consequences?” - -“Yes; we should have a great deal of music all to ourselves. We might -go away to France or Algiers, and I should forget Athens.” - -“No, you would not. There is no such thing as forgetfulness until you -take to drink, and then you only forget when you are drunk. The instant -you become sober, memory probes your empty heart more strongly than -ever.” - -“Then we will drink together, Photini,” cried Rudolph, recklessly. -“Give me some brandy.” - -“I will not. I insist on your going back to that silly chit you’ve -treated so badly. Dry her eyes--they are very pretty eyes, my friend -Rudolph, and a man might be less agreeably employed. She’ll soon -forgive you if you manage to look penitent enough. I boxed her ears -once, and I like her all the better for it. Tell her an old woman who -loves you sent you back to her.” - -“Photini, you are not old,” protested Rudolph, disinclined to speak of -Andromache to her. “Come back to the point. Will you have me? You say -you love me.” - -“Rudolph, you are an ass. Don’t you see that I am trying to save you? -What does it matter for myself? You, Agiropoulos, another,--it is all -the same. My life is blotted, ruined, disfigured past redemption. -One _liaison_ more or less cannot practically affect me. But with -you it is different. You are a delicately-trained boy, of fastidious -tastes. You are unfit to battle with the coarser elements of life. A -robuster _morale_ and a less dainty nature than yours can buffet and -wrestle with brutal conditions, and be none the worse for a hundred -false steps, but you will sink irretrievably upon the first. Vice -sits indifferently well on some of us, and on others most deplorably. -That is why women sink so much more rapidly than men. Despair and -self-contempt are stones that hang fatally round their necks, and -this,” she said, pointing to a flask of brandy, “helps them to carry -the weight until they are crushed by it.” - -“It will help me, too, I’ve no doubt,” said Rudolph. - -“It is from that I would save you, and from the rest. It is not my -habit to express my opinions. I despise people too much to talk -seriously to them, but I am not only a musical machine in the lucid -pauses of a toper. I have thought a little, too, and I know what I have -lost.” - -She was walking up and down the room with her hands joined behind her, -and there was a glow upon her strange face that made it almost noble. -When she had finished, she stood in front of Rudolph, scanned him -closely, and asked: - -“Are you going? I have had quite enough of this sort of thing.” - -“I am not going, Photini. My mind is made up. I will stay with you. Be -kind to me. Say you want me.” - -“I must not, for then I could not bring myself to give you up. Go away, -and think over it. Mind, I would far rather you did not come back, and -I think I should be able to kiss with gratitude a note from you telling -me you had gone back to that girl.” - -“You will get no such note from me, for I am going to stay now,” -Rudolph exclaimed, impetuously. - -“You are a fool. There, I would have saved you--now, it is as heaven -wills it. But please remember this. When you come to repent this step, -as you will surely in a week, a month, or a year, have the goodness not -to bluster and expend your rage on me, or lay your folly to my account.” - -Rudolph laughed bitterly. - -“I think, mademoiselle, you would very soon make short work of me and -my bluster and rage,” he said. - -“Well, yes, I believe I should be able for that emergency.” - -“Photini, will you play me the ‘Barcarolle’?” Rudolph asked, as he -rubbed his cheek caressingly against her arm. - -She stooped over him, kissed his hair and forehead, and their lips met -in a burning kiss--Rudolph’s first. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -AGAMEMNON AND IPHIGENIA. - - -We can imagine how the fabric, sedulously raised by Constantine’s -pursuit of his family’s fortune and advancement, tottered, shook, and -fell utterly to pieces upon that one exchanged look between Inarime -and Gustav. He in the world, and she the wife of another man! She -loathed herself that such should have been deemed possible of her. She -acknowledged her father’s right to her obedience, and it was difficult -for her to imagine her will in disjunction from his. But surely there -are limits to a daughter’s obligations--most wise limits set by nature, -whose laws are still more imperative than man’s. We may defy the laws -of man, and sometimes their defiance is proof of nobler instinct. But -the laws of nature--these are inexorable, and her punishments are -fatally swift. Body and mind were set in revolution against this cold -commercial alliance. Her soul in arms told her that it would be a -bodily degradation under which her mind would inevitably sink. - -She had been trained to reason and to think, to hold her words in -subjection to her reason, and restrain the impulsiveness of her sex. -Expediency, she had been taught, may be a qualified virtue, though -founded on the meanest basis, and she had been recommended to weigh -its component parts in particular cases, before pronouncing judgment. -Hitherto she had been wise to detect the logical issues of any -situation presented to her for the reading, and thus had gained, in the -mind of the villagers, the reputation of a wise young counsellor, whose -head was filled with all the natural precepts of sagacity. But that -swift, immediate contact with flame and fire, the frantic surrender to -an untried glance, threw her back upon herself, with shaken faith, in -the grasp of wavering moods of stupefaction and self-contempt lit by -the lamp of burning bliss. - -She saw her folly but did not repudiate it--the goddesses of old had -yielded to the sovereign passion upon as little pressure. One of the -features of Immortality is its royal dispensation with the tedious -form of wooing invented by the weak mortals. Nineteen years of a -purity as glacial as Artemis’ before she had given that one kiss to -the sleeping boy, were as an unremembered dream, blotted from her mind -without regret or shame, upon meeting of eyes that held her own in -glad subjection. The thrill of captured maidenhood was still upon her, -and O, faithlessness most grievous to the noble captor! she had half -pledged herself to take a husband. - -“I cannot!” she cried aloud, stung keenly by the horror and the -gracelessness of such submission. - -And then, to accentuate her anguish, the figure of Oïdas for the first -time rose sharp and distinct upon her vision, to fix her in the travail -of repugnance. Until now he had passed before her, a scarce-recognised -nonentity, wafted past her upon sugary strains of Verdi and Bellini, -through the odours of many flowers. Now he stood out in cruel relief -against the background of a holy memory. She saw his high shoulders, -with a slight outward droop curving suddenly inward, and making a -grotesque narrowness of chest, like a bird of prey curved in upon its -wings, and she caught herself smiling at the picture. She detected the -material contentions of the oily simper and too affable expression in -the small black eyes, noted ruthlessly the uncertainty of the spindle -shanks that did lean duty for legs, and the ungraceful flow of the long -loose frock coat. - -It was borne in then upon her that she unconquerably disliked Oïdas, -and that pressure would change that dislike to positive and passionate -aversion. Does not youth demand youth for its mate? strength and -beauty their like? Was she to stand tamely by, and let her youth and -strength and beauty be given away to mean and dwindling age such as -his? He had not even the godlike attribute of power upon which she -could let herself be whirled into possession, shutting her eyes in the -make-believe of fatality. Theseus may carry off an unloving Helen, -but at least he is a hero. Helen may repine and revolt, but she feels -that the arms that imprison her are strong and conquering arms. She -may hate, but she will not despise,--and contempt is the one thing -women will not endure. Let the ravisher but possess superb qualities, -and pardon may eventually be his. Pride, sitting apart, is nourished -on their contemplation though the heart be starving, and it is a fine -thing to be able to sustain alien pride in a woman. But a man like -Oïdas, the epitome of male commonplace, held out no future hope of an -honourable compromise between pride and the heart’s exactions. Tied -to him, she would pass through life a mean and pitiable figure, read -in the light of her ignoble choice. It is not given to many women to -wed romance, and the curious want of fastidiousness with which the -sex may be charged, its readiness to take shabby and uninteresting -mates, is one of the best proofs that any man can get a wife. But if -a woman once let her glance dwell upon a live figure of a romance, it -is astonishing how complete will be her discovery of the general ill -looks and unattractiveness of men. Until Inarime had seen Gustav, she -had not remarked whether nature favoured men physically or not. But now -it was the appearance of Oïdas that told most emphatically against him. -Nature had shown her what she could do for a man when she chose to be -in a poetic mood, and she was not disposed to accept the exchange of a -monkey shivering in a frock-coat. - -The warm blood running fire through her now petulant veins taught her -how mad was her former belief that she could meet the sacrifice her -father proposed with resigned endurance. The revolt of her body was -as fierce as that of her soul. Marriage was not like a commercial -partnership in which each party lives on certain ground a life apart. -It was the complete enslavement of an existence, the surrendering of -private thought, of the sanctuaries of mind and person. No escape. -Concealment would be subterfuge, the man’s dishonour the wife’s. Habit -would be tyranny, the faintest demonstration of an unshared affection -an oppression. She rose up at this thought with cheeks dyed scarlet, -so acute was her apprehension of its meaning, and then dropped among -her pillows, and hurried to hide from the shame of it under the -protecting sheets. - -No, she could not! Less cruel far was the old sacrifice at Aulis. -Iphigenia might well bow to her father’s awful decision while her -soul was unscourged by the scorpion whips of such degradation. The -fire in her brain and the burn of hot dry eyelids kept her awake all -night, pursued by terrible images of an unholy future, and her first -thought, when the dawn touched light upon the window-panes, was to -seek her father and intercept him before he left the Embassy. She knew -he purposed going out early, intending to add to his notes at the -University library, for the German meeting. - -“Father,” she cried, in a voice of resolution he was quick to feel -there was no shaking, “I must leave this house at once. You will go and -make my excuses to the baron, while I will knock at the baroness’ door.” - -“What has happened, child? You look disturbed and ill,” Selaka -exclaimed, in wonderment. - -“I will tell you when we are gone,” she said, growing whiter at the -prospect of giving voice to the night’s sufferings. “Go now, dear -father, and wait for me in the courtyard.” - -“I did believe my daughter was not capricious.” - -“Papa,” she pleaded, childishly, “love me a little, be kind to me. Do -what I ask.” - -Selaka mused half-angrily, as he went in search of the baron, so -thoroughly mystified that he almost apprehended being unfitted for -learned society that morning: - -“Ah, why are these explosive engines, known as daughters, born to -poor harassed man? We idly propagate them as candles to attract the -moths around us; to dismay us with their flutter and impertinent -importunities;--magnets to attract violent impulses, and run them -cantering in rivalry.” - -Wrapped up in his own vexed thoughts, he had long been perceived by -Reineke at the German school before he recognised the fatal Turk. He -bowed coldly, flushed perceptibly under the eyes. The fellow was a -man to be proud of, he felt, a man in a million, an ideal son-in-law, -and hotly rebuked himself for thinking it. He moved as far away from -Reineke as possible, and fell into eager conversation with a Russian -professor. - -The Russian informed him that the French school had curtly declined to -attend, with the added discourtesy of offering no excuse whatsoever. - -“Ye gods! Is not the ground of archæology even to be neutral?” -thundered Selaka. “Must politics here be thrust upon us, and have us by -the ears in a fret of jarring and wrangling? It is not a question of -marriage. If civility did not suggest it, policy ought to teach them to -take what Germany, with her science and perseverance has to offer them, -and be thankful for the gift. Let them sulk, and it will do nobody any -harm but themselves.” - -“The French minister’s nephew, a very charming young fellow, has sent -an unofficial letter of apology on his own behalf. He was invited -because of a couple of interesting and graceful articles he wrote for -the _Revue des deux Mondes_. It is known that he received orders to -stay away.” - -It was an imposing assembly. The nations of the civilised world were -represented by their Embassies and schools, all except sulking France. -The blooming half of humanity was present in a dozen or so of choice -souls, to deck the scene with their flowery robes and bright hues. The -loud murmur of mingled tongues was stopped by Herr Julius Dünckler -stepping forward to open the proceedings formally by a neat little -speech announcing that the paper of the day would be read by his very -youthful but learned colleague, Herr Gustav Reineke. The theme was the -everlasting Theatre, a theme happily not exhausted, and matter still -for research. Herr Reineke had visited every spot of ground that could -be of use to him in the patient analysis of his subject, and his views -were so forcibly put forward, his erudition was so minute and vast at -the same time, that it seemed to him, the director of the German School -of Archæology, that it would be a pleasure and a gain for other workers -like himself in that wide field, to assemble and amicably discuss Herr -Reineke’s paper. The paper, he stated, was translated into English and -French for those present who could not understand German. - -Upon invitation, Gustav took his place upon the platform and the -ladies at least were unanimous in their admiration of his handsome and -distinguished presence. - -“He looks a scholar and a gentleman to boot,” murmured Mrs. -Mowbray-Thomas. - -His voice was grave and musically measured, with an Oriental soft -sonorousness which captivated his hearers. His face was impassive in -its noble earnestness, its strength toned by delicate beauty, lit with -the fine glow of intellect. When he came to the end of his reading, he -bowed in acknowledgment of the applause that greeted it, and, stepping -backward, his eyes sought Selaka through the crowd. He was quick to -detect the flame of affectionate pride that involuntarily leaped into -the old man’s answering look, and a chill from excessive hope ran -through his members in a visible shudder. - -He beat his way through congratulating strangers till he stood beside -Selaka’s chair. - -“Your hand?” he said, under his breath, extending his own tentatively, -and, seeing it grasped, added, with an ingratiating smile: “It is not -withheld.” - -“And wherefore? I am proud of you, proud for you, honoured by the -distinction,” Selaka answered, huskily, while he followed the crowd -towards the door. - -“Ah, sir, it is a barren pride for you and me,” said Gustav, keeping -close to his side. - -Gustav understood that he was dismissed, but with pardonable -pertinacity resolved to force Selaka to speak to him of Inarime, and -walked beside him. - -“She is well?” he almost entreated. - -“Very well,” Selaka admitted slowly, not trusting himself to recognise -the hungry question in the other’s eyes. - -“Her beauty has made some stir here,” he added in a naïve exposure of -paternal vanity. “You have heard?” - -“No, I arrived yesterday. The town’s gossip has not reached me.” - -A thrill of insufferable horror shot through him at the hideous picture -of Inarime’s beauty the theme of men’s discourse and the object of -their ugly scrutiny. The Turk was thus far strong within him, that if -possible he would have had her shielded from alien homage, guarded the -bloom and perfume of her beauty for his own exclusive possession. - -After a pause, filled in with conjecture and flashes of memory, he -turned again to Selaka. - -“Am I still an outcast, sir?” - -“Outcast! You know that I esteem you--truly, cordially.” - -“For yourself. But for her--in that sense I mean it.” - -“I cannot alter the sentence pronounced.” - -“Ah!” Gustav interjected, drawing in his breath sharply. “It is so hard -on me. I hope, I believe, it is hard on her, too.” - -“She is sensible. She will resign herself to marry the man I have -chosen for her.” - -“Young Ehrenstein!” Gustav almost shouted, with a start. - -“Can you ask? He is a fool and a villain. A fellow who does not know -his own mind, is betrothed to one woman, loves another, and levants -with a third.” - -“Such a choice would indeed be tragic for her,” Gustav said, -sardonically. “Has she consented?” - -“Partly.” - -“It is incredible to me, sir. You shock me. You unnerve me. I desire -to remain cool, but the picture you force upon me is unbearable, vile, -discordant. Inarime wedded--and not to me! Impossible! I will not -accept it.” - -“Hush! You have no choice. I do not offer an alternative,” interposed -Selaka, judicially. - -“But, sir, you have a tender love for her. Think of the cruelty, the -shame and agony for her! She is all delicacy and sensitiveness. To -have given herself to me, and now to be asked to accept another! It is -the most abominable desecration of maidenhood! She cannot, she will -not! Be reasonable. Think of her, sir.” - -“Of whom else do you suppose I think, Herr ----” but Selaka could not -bring himself to pronounce the false name, and his tongue shrank with -violent repugnance from the other. - -“Drop the name,” Gustav implored, seeing his hesitation. - -“I do not doubt your tender regard for her, but I do most emphatically -deny that it is possible for you to see the position with the eyes -of youth. Oh, I understand. You deem me jealous. If that were all. -Nay, then it would be worse, for I should doubt her. And I do not. I -could answer for her with my life. You are driving her to an ignoble -compliance. You wish her to be safe from me.” - -“You have guessed rightly. I shall not feel secure until she has passed -into other hands--hands that will bind her and you with stronger -fetters than mine.” - -“Oh, how wrong you are! How you misjudge me! Have I tried to write to -her, to see her? Yesterday we met,--we did not even touch hands, we -said no word.” - -It was Selaka’s turn to start. - -“She did not tell me,” he muttered. “To-day she met me with a troubled -aspect, and prayed to be taken away.” - -“Poor child! Why will you make it harder for her? Have you the heart -to grieve her so? Why, oh, why put this heavy burden on the young -shoulders you should cherish? I will not harass you. I will not thwart -your plans.” - -“You are talking complete nonsense,” Selaka responded, testily. “A -father must marry his daughter, if only to feel she will be protected -after his death.” - -“Protected! Inarime unprotected! You madden me. But for myself I do not -complain;--nay, I do most bitterly. Kyrie Selaka, is this your last -word?” - -“It is.” - -“Will nothing--nothing I can say shake you?” - -“Nothing.” - -“You are a second Agamemnon,” Gustav cried, and turned away with weary, -angry eyes and white lips. - -Pericles opened his mouth to call him back, shut it, drove down the -unsaid words with a heavy sigh, and walked slowly towards his brother’s -house. - -Constantine greeted him in the hall with an emphatic look, pointed to -the inner room and shrugged his shoulders. - -“She is in there, pacing for all the world like a ravenous tiger. Women -are cats. They spring and tread delicately, with glittering, rageful -eyes, and make you listen, in spite of yourself, for the ominous hiss -and spit, or the soft caressing purr. I would not marry that young -woman for her weight in gold. That reminds me. Oïdas is bothering me -about the engagement. He complains that it is indefinite, that Inarime -has stayed too long at that confounded Embassy, and that you keep him -on tenter-hooks. It is all over Athens about young Ehrenstein. The -senseless whelp! Oïdas is frantic, insists he has been injuriously -trifled with; in short, nothing but an immediate marriage will satisfy -him. He is the snarling dog that shows his teeth upon provocation, and -is perhaps more dangerous, if not more discomposing, than the spitting -cat.” - -“It is all right, Constantine. Oïdas is correct in his statement that -he has been somewhat unfairly dealt with, in so far as his answer has -been unduly delayed. This accident of Ehrenstein’s--the Fates confound -him and the Furies overtake him!--teaches me that the conclusion of the -bargain must be speedily arrived at. I cannot have my daughter’s name -dubiously upon the lips of chattering fools. Oïdas will be apprised -this afternoon of my decision.” - -He swung into the other room, and a face of piercing eagerness and -demand met his! - -“Inarime, you must be ready to marry Kyrios Oïdas at once,” he began, -without any thoughtful preliminaries. - -“It is of that I wished to speak to you, father,” she said, in a dreary -quiescence that filled him with hope. - -“Come, this promises well. My dear girl is reasonable.” - -“He sent me those,” she said, pointing to a small stack of roses, -jonquils and heliotrope, that lay a neglected litter, upon the table, -and appealed to her senses in revolt with a nauseating sweetness. -“And this letter. He is giving a fancy ball, and wishes me to attend -publicly as his bride.” - -“The wish does him honour, and is but natural and manly. You must get -over this fancied repugnance, my girl. You will have to marry him. It -is my resolution.” - -He spoke with a harshness quite foreign to him, but its adoption -nerved him to show her a front of adamant. - -“Father, I will not,” she cried--screamed nearly. - -“Will not?” he asked, his brows shooting into a significant arch, and -his eyes, for the first time in the interview, holding hers in question. - -“Cannot,” she breathed, in a lower tone, with an air of weakness that -touched him horribly. - -“You see your position. It is for you to obey.” - -She caught her breath in a sound held between a sob and a hiss, -rebellion gathering ominously about the dark brows. - -“You are within your rights, I know. But, oh! father, how can you stand -out for paternal authority in the face of my most utter misery?” - -“But, Inarime, this is what I cannot understand,” he protested, -returning to their old footing of equality. “Why should the thought of -this marriage--a wholly respectable alliance--irritate you and make you -miserable?” - -“It is not _he_!” she whispered, breathlessly. - -“Fudge!” - -“Father, will you at least try to face the situation with a woman’s -mind and instinct. Believe me, it is no contemptible mind or instinct -that makes us shrink from an abhorrent marriage. We may not have -heads clear as yours, but our instincts are as finely responsive to -the promptings of nature as a watch is delicately accurate in its -measurements of time. Your brains may err and falsely interpret. Our -hearts cannot, unless art interferes. I speak now of uneducated woman -pitted against educated man. In these things he will have much to -learn from her. We are limited in our nature, father, and that which -you ask of me is impossible.” - -“I will not hear it. Nothing is impossible when it simply depends on -the good-will and common-sense of the person. It is my punishment -for having brought you up as a boy. All my love and thought and care -were for you, and this is my reward. You seek to disturb and thwart -me on the very first occasion that brings our wills into collision. -A growing child is like a peach, soft and bloomy to the touch, sweet -to the taste, until you come to the heart, where you find bitterness -and hardness. What can it matter whom you marry, when you cannot marry -_him_?” - -“Oh, it is easy enough for you to speak as a spectator. You will not -be marrying the man, and it makes all the difference. The servitude, -the loathing, the degradation will be mine to bear, and only a girl can -feel that.” - -“A girl! a woman! Will you not taunt me with your boast of nicer -feeling. This Oïdas, on your own admission, was not specially -distasteful to you.” - -“That was when you had not proposed him for a husband.” - -“Ouf! One notes the unreasonable sex in that retort. What has my -simple proposal to do with the man. If he were a detestable fellow you -would have hated him from the beginning. Nothing but the unconquerable -passion for worrying and grieving and turning everybody topsy-turvy, -that is born in every woman, would make my desire to marry you to him -paint him to you in blacker colours.” - -“It would be the same with any man you might think fit to propose. -If it is the fault of my sex, I cannot in reason be held responsible -for it. It is not my fault that I am not born an exception. And I will -admit, father, in this case I would infinitely prefer to follow the -general rule,” she added, bitterly. - -“There, there, my girl, don’t fret me with unkind speech. I have -yielded to temper, I know, and am sorry for it. You have ever been a -solace and a joy to me, and if I have set my heart on this matter, it -is entirely for your good. You must marry some one.” - -She allowed him passively to fondle her hand, but her face was still -troubled and cold. Why was it so difficult for him, if he loved her, to -understand and appreciate the nature of her repugnance? Are a girl’s -objections never to count when others have her welfare in view? - -“One would think I were disgraced, and marriage necessary at once as a -shield for my reputation,” she retorted, crimsoning hotly, held by a -sense of audacity and shame, as the full meaning of her words rushed -upon her. - -“Those are words it requires all my tenderness to forgive, Inarime,” -said Pericles, gravely. “You wonder at my anxiety to marry you. Is it -not simply a father’s duty? It is, moreover, a duty women, good women, -owe to the State.” - -“The State!” Inarime exclaimed, with a look of surprised indignation. -“What do good women, as you say, owe the State more than others?” - -Selaka stared at her incredulously. Could this be his child? This young -woman, lashed by angry passions, and stinging him in turn by sharp, -impertinent speech! - -“They owe it the duty to marry and bring up their children befittingly -and intelligently.” - -“You accept too readily that every good woman is capable of this. It -requires, I imagine, special gifts, a special capacity, to bring up -children befittingly and intelligently. It is wiser to count on the -stupidity and capacity of the average.” - -“Granted. O, I grant you that with full conviction. Still, we cannot -let the race die out because, unfortunately, parents are for the most -part idiots and criminals. The State is wiser to assume they are the -reverse.” - -“Then means should be taken by the State to see that the young are -fitted for their future responsibilities. I have met some very charming -young ladies here at Athens--charming, until you have had time to -discover that they are for the most part insipid, uneducated and silly. -I have nothing to say against them. They were prettily apparelled and -amused me. They chatter engagingly--about nothing. They tell me they -have been for years studying the piano, with no result, and that they -have learned at least four foreign tongues for purposes of social -intercourse--not study. I am curious to know how it could enter the -brains of any one to suspect these pretty toys of a capacity for -bringing up their children intelligently. And yet they will marry, and -will doubtless be considered to have accomplished their duty to the -uncritical State.” - -“Well, well, that is not our concern, happily. You, at least, are not -similarly situated. The hours spent by you on study have been spent -to some purpose. The only objection I see to Kyrios Oïdas is, that he -is somewhat old. I would very willingly have changed him for young -Herr Rudolph because of his youth and social position. He loves you, -Inarime, he avowed it frantically to me. But just as I had made up my -mind to effect the alteration of bridegrooms, Θις μαυ he explodes in a -flame of ugly scandal, leaving the full theatrical smell of fire and -brimstone behind him. Faust carried off by a female Mephistopheles! -Ouf! This world!” - -Inarime walked across the room, pressed her forehead against the -window, and stood gazing into the street in disconsolate perplexity. -Selaka joined her, and placed his hand affectionately on her shoulders. - -“We have been equally in the wrong towards one another, my dear one,” -he said. “We have forgotten the seemly restraints of speech, and in -our smarting anger and disappointment, have drawn largely upon the -copper of language, as if our minds had never fed upon its gold. I am -ashamed and grieved. Antigone would not have spoken to Œdipus as you, -my child, have to-day spoken to me; and Œdipus would not so completely -have forfeited the respect that was due to him. To get back into the -old groove, we will separate and meditate a while apart. In the light -of reflection, you will see that what I ask is for your sole good. If -this story of young Ehrenstein gets abroad, you will be unpleasantly -mixed up with it, and marriage will be your best, and, in fact, your -only shield from evil surmise. You do not doubt my great love, child?” - -Still hurt and dismayed, Inarime withheld the be-sought-for look of -reconciliation. Her shoulders moved with an uncontrollable sob; this -marriage revolted her, and held her silent. - -“My daughter! my dearest! Look at me, your father, Inarime.” - -She turned her head slowly, stretched out her arms, and was enfolded -in his. Their embrace was broken by a loud and frantic entrance. -Constantine rushed in, holding a newspaper in his hand, followed close -by Oïdas, whose face wore an expression of vindictive spite. - -“Pericles,” roared poor Constantine, shaken out of his wits, “look at -this! The wretches! the liars! Read it.” - -He thrust the paper into his brother’s hands, and began violently to -wipe the perspiration from his forehead. Pericles had just time for a -hurried glance at the garbled and extremely malicious version of the -Ehrenstein romance in the “Aristophanes,” in which Inarime’s name was -printed in full, with a minute description of her person, when Oïdas -broke out: - -“I am mentioned, too, as betrothed to your daughter. I do not know -who has authorised this impertinence. How can you expect a man in my -position to marry a girl thus advertised!” - -“Is that so? You are not perhaps aware,” shrieked Constantine, “that my -niece has emphatically refused to marry you. She hates you.” - -Oïdas smiled sarcastically. That was chaff unlikely to catch him. -Pericles shook himself with a supreme effort out of his state of sickly -stupefaction. - -“Kyrie Oïdas, it is as my brother says,” he managed to utter, in a -vague, chill tone. “My daughter has to-day communicated to me her -unconquerable repugnance to the alliance you did us the honour to -propose. You will now do us the still greater honour of relieving us -of your presence.” - -Oïdas strutted out of the room with lips drawn into an incredulous -grin, and when the door slammed behind him, Pericles stretched out his -hands helplessly. His face was white and his lips blue. Inarime rushed -to him. - -“My father!” she murmured, softly. “Uncle, help me.” - -Pericles had fallen back in a dead faint. - -Oïdas went about the town, distracted, and resolved to spread his evil -tale. He did not want for willing ears and believers. Many discredited -his story, and reverted to his former unconcealed anxiety to get the -girl, and her evident holding back. In the next day’s papers a formal -announcement appeared stating the Mayor of Athens wished it to be known -that he entertained no intention of marrying the desposyné Inarime -Selaka, and had officially rescinded his proposals. - -Vague references further appeared to a Turkish lover, a mysterious -Bey, roving incognito over Greece--learned, fascinating and romantic. -This paragraph and the short letter of Oïdas fell under the amazed -eyes of Gustav Reineke, while he sat at breakfast in his hotel. His -face flamed furious. Giddy emotions momentarily held him prostrate and -insane. Then he rose, clenched his teeth, furnished himself with a -heavy riding-whip, and sallied forth towards the newspaper office. He -met the editor in the hall, unprotected and unsuspecting. With a growl -of Homeric satisfaction, he pounced on that unhappy man, and, passion -lending him strength, suitably reduced him to a pulp. Inspirited by -this diversion, he sought the mayor, was courteously admitted, not -being known to be on an avenging mission; he then proceeded, without -preliminary, to do the work of an infuriated hero upon the rickety body -of that civic luminary. Oïdas’ howls were fearful to hear, but the -door was locked, and only opened to emit in a flash the lithe frame of -Gustav,--his face blanched, his eyes blazing, and his lips triumphant. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -HOW ATHENS TOOK THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PERFIDIOUS RUDOLPH. - - -Rudolph’s disappearance with Photini created rather more than a nine -days’ wonder at Athens. This is one of the privileges of living in a -small and talkative town where private affairs spread like fire, and -scandal is an excitement only second to that of the election of the -mayor. But it must be confessed that this was a big scandal, and worth -all the ejaculations, comments, and emphatic censure it provoked. The -baron shrugged his shoulders and smiled: it may be allowed he was not -prepared for this sweeping descent on the part of the innocent Rudolph. -But, as he remarked to his wife: - -“It’s always your well brought up and virtuous youths who take the -rapidest strides to the deuce! I told Ottilie, years ago, that she was -bringing up that boy to be a very dainty morsel for any adventuress -that might happen to catch him.” - -“Well, my dear, we must admit,” said the baroness, “that the -Natzelhuber did not put herself to any considerable trouble to catch -Rudolph. I’ve not the slightest doubt that the boy was only longing to -be caught, and not wishing to escape it.” - -“That is ever the way,” remarked her amiable husband, “with our -inconsistent sex. Our normal condition is longing or grumbling. Either -we are crying out against the adventuresses who wish to catch us, or -we are railing against those who won’t; and when we are caught, we are -still crying out that we are caught. The child, you perceive, is father -to the man. Watch an infant with his pets: he fondles and maltreats -the confiding kitten that rubs itself against him, and deserts it to -run after the butterfly. The butterfly won’t be caught and he howls -dismally, if he doesn’t go into a fit, and proceeds to strangle the -tabby. Thus it has been with your engaging nephew. Mademoiselle -Andromache represents the confiding kitten, deserted for Selaka’s -daughter, the unattainable butterfly, and Photini stands for the -domestic tabby. Only the tabby in question possesses very formidable -claws, which she is too likely to use upon the slightest or even upon -no provocation from the faithless Rudolph. He will then return to us a -sadder and a wiser man. Perhaps when that time comes, it will not be so -very difficult for us, with the aid of Mademoiselle Veritassi, should -that delightful young lady be still free, to anchor him in the placid -waters of matrimony.” - -“As for Mademoiselle Veritassi,” said the baroness, “it is always the -girls who come off the worst in these matters. They stand there ready -victims for the worn and jaded rakes who have sown their wild oats. -That wild-oat period is an abomination, Baron, and the theory has done -more to injure young men than anything else.” - -“Madame, I am not responsible for the errors of civilisation. The -period which you so aptly describe as the wild-oat period, is -doubtless a sad one to contemplate for those like you and me, who -have passed to the other side, where it is to be hoped there are no -wild oats to be sown. But I am not so sure of that. However, I have -not the slightest doubt, should Rudolph settle down with Mademoiselle -Veritassi, that he will make her as good a husband as any other. -Certainly she will find him very pliant and easy to manage. He is -wealthy, too, and I suppose a young woman cannot ask anything better -than a husband she can easily manage, and a purse she can draw heavily -upon,” said the baron, and continued to smoke his morning cigar without -any unwonted discomposure. - -The baroness went on her round of visits in a saddened spirit, thinking -of that young life wrecked on its threshold, and feeling that her -sister Ottilie, watching from above, might perhaps consider that she -in some manner or another, was responsible for the boy’s fall. She was -a good woman in her way, though a worldly one. Whatever might be her -opinion of the morals of the young men with whom she associated, she -would gladly have shielded poor Rudolph from any such acquaintance with -life as theirs. Having no child of her own, she loved the boy with a -tender and maternal love. - -“It is very dreadful,” she said at dinner to her husband. - -“My dear, let us be thankful that it is not worse,--it might have -been,” said the cheerful philosopher. - -“Worse!” interrogated the baroness. - -“He might have married her.” - -This appalling suggestion silenced the baroness. - -Some days later, a letter came from Rudolph from Cape Juan. Already -there was a breath of cynicism in it, startling to those who had known -him in his not far distant period of girlish and fastidious shrinking. -The baron read it attentively, and then said: - -“It seems to me, my dear, your Arcadian nephew is going to the devil as -fast as brandy and Photini will help him.” - -And that was all he said, adding that probably in a year, at the most, -Rudolph would reappear in their midst, hardened, cynical, and worldly -wise. - -The outrage inflicted on Athens in the respected person of her chief -citizen still lifted the voice of uproarious censure, and the Turkish -Embassy had to interfere on behalf of Daoud Bey, who made good his -escape. - -In the meantime, how has it been faring with the victim, Andromache? In -the first flush of separation, Rudolph was as regular a correspondent -as the postal arrangements of the Peloponnesus allowed. His letters -breathed artless affection and most gratifying regrets. They described -everything he saw at considerable length, and Andromache read them -as young ladies will read their first love letters, answered them -as candidly, making proper allowance for maidenly reticence; and -then devoted herself, with much ardour, to discussing Rudolph with -her mother and Julia. All the while the trousseau was progressing -rapidly. What dresses to be tried on! what quantities of linen to be -embroidered what choice of lace! There was confusion in the little -house overlooking the French school, and Themistocles found it more -necessary than ever to seek the quiet and seclusion of his own chamber, -and there to meditate upon the young lady in the next street and play -endless and torturing variations of Schubert’s Serenade. And O what -a glorious time it was for Miltiades! how he boasted of his sister’s -brilliant future at the mess-table, and walked the town, or rode on his -coal-black charger, with his friend Hadji Adam, the light of excitement -in his eye strong enough to dazzle the rash beholder! Alas! that these -simple joys should be dashed to the ground in disappointment and -humiliation! Letters came more rarely upon the second separation, and -their tone was more curt and less confiding. There was even a strain -of self-reproach in them which Andromache was too unsuspecting to -construe. But these signs of storm passed unnoticed by Miltiades. The -letter fever, we know, soon declines with young men absent from their -lady-loves, and as the months passed the fever gradually abated, and -Rudolph, the faithless, lapsed into silence. - -Still the trousseau progressed, and still the marriage preparations -went forward. One day Miltiades in his barracks was informed that -Rudolph had returned to Athens;--he dropped his knife and fork in -astonishment. How came it that he was not aware of this? and how came -it that Rudolph had not yet made his appearance in the little salon, -where the Turkish bomb that had exploded at the feet of Miltiades was -proudly displayed? Miltiades sat at home all the day, and waited for -Ehrenstein. He was wise enough not to mention this fact to Andromache -or to his mother. Perhaps there would be a very simple explanation -forthcoming, and why inflict needless pain upon the women? Days went -by, however, and still no Ehrenstein. By the soul of Hercules, how can -a fellow be expected to stand this kind of treatment? The slaughterer -of five thousand Turks sit calmly by, while his sister is being jilted -in the most outrageous manner! Certainly not. - -Miltiades strode the streets of Athens with a more warlike aspect than -ever. The very frown of his brows was a challenge, and the glance of -his eyes was a dagger: the crimson plumes of his service cap nodded -valorously, his sword and spurs clanked. He twirled his moustache -until all the little boys and foot passengers made way for him -apprehensively. Still no Ehrenstein appeared. Then came the climax. It -was an awful moment when the news exploded,--more fatal far than the -Turkish bomb on the table,--that Rudolph had disappeared with Photini -Natzelhuber. We will draw the veil of discretion upon the picture of -a modern Theseus lashed into impotent fury, and striding through the -prostrate forms of his womenfolk in hysterics. - -With a Jove-like front Miltiades faced the Austrian Embassy, and held -stern council with the Baron von Hohenfels. Of course there was nothing -to be done. It was clearly impossible to offer money to a warrior and -a hero. Such a thing as breaches of promise are here unknown, and it -was equally impossible to collar Rudolph and bring him back to his -deserted bride. The baron was conciliatory and courteous, as was his -wont; expressed the flattering opinion that Mademoiselle Andromache -was far too good for a reprobate like his nephew; hoped Miltiades -would allow the baroness the honour of calling upon his mother, -Kyria Karapolos, and her family; and placed himself, his house, and -everything belonging to him at the disposal of the affronted captain. -The interview terminated amicably--how could it be otherwise with the -most diplomatic of ambassadors?--Miltiades returned to the bosom of his -family, and held a parliament to debate upon proceedings. - -Andromache bore her sorrow better than might have been imagined. She -necessarily did a little in the way of hysterics, but soon settled down -in dreary acquiescence, and spent her days embroidering and practising -the piano. The practice of scales may be recommended to jilted young -ladies. It soothes the nerves, dulls the imagination, and produces a -useful kind of indifference. Young men in similar circumstances prefer, -I believe, wine, or cards, or politics,--or worse. - -This was the hour in which Maria shone. Very faithfully and lovingly -did she tend her young forsaken mistress, hovered over her yearningly, -invented delicacies by means of rice, jam, macaroni and tapioca, to -tempt the appetite of the most hardened sufferer, sat by her for -hours, silently stroking her hair and fondling her hands, and unveiled -exquisite depths of tenderness and consideration. Greek servants and -Irish servants are the kindest, most affectionate and most absolutely -disinterested in the world. - -But there was a curious hardness about Andromache’s young mouth: a -permanent glitter in her dark blue eyes, that bespoke a cherished -design. Of that design she spoke to nobody, but went through the day -pretty much as usual, and was grateful to those who remained silent -upon her shame. The Baroness von Hohenfels called, was most pathetic, -effusive, and strewed her path with good-will. She called again, this -time with Agiropoulos, who stared at Andromache through his eyeglass, -wore an expensive orchid in his coat, and conducted himself with his -usual fascinating audacity. - -“Faith!” he said to the baroness. “I should not object to console the -little Karapolos myself.” - -“That is an idea,” said the Baroness. “I’ll marry you, and then I shall -have Rudolph’s perfidy off my mind.” - -“Well, now that Photini has deserted me for your charming nephew, it -will be teaching Rudolph a nice lesson in military tactics,--to besiege -his deserted town, and carry it by storm,--eh, madame?” - -The Baroness was quite serious in her design. A little Athenian might -be an impossible match for a young Austrian aristocrat, with the blood -of the Crusaders, the Hapsburgs, and heaven knows of what other deeply -azure sources, running through his veins;--but a common Greek merchant -from Trieste, now, an amiable enough person in florid attire, but not -of her world, though gracefully patronised by her! It would be a very -proper match, and one which she was resolved to further. The girl was -pretty--extremely pretty and young. She wanted polish, and a few months -of Agiropoulos’ irresistible society would be sure to accomplish much -in that way. - -“Decidedly, M. Agiropoulos, I am determined to marry you. You must -range yourself. You are now, I suppose, just thirty?” - -“Oh, madame, grace I beseech you! Twenty-six. But you see the -disastrous results of follies and the harassing cares your cruel sex -imposes on sensitive young men,” said Agiropoulos, with his fatuous -smile. - -“Then it is of greater necessity that you should settle down at once, -and devote yourself to the whims of a wife.” - -“I am only eager for the day. I have been well disposed towards -Mademoiselle Veritassi, but she, capricious angel, will not have me.” - -The baroness felt inclined to box the fellow’s ear, but only smiled. - -A few days later this airy individual left a basket of flowers for the -desposyné Andromache Karapolos. - - - - -BOOK IV. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -INARIME’S VIGIL. - - -The journey back to Tenos was a mournful one. Selaka, in a mixture of -dread and compunction, shunned his daughter’s glance. There might be -a question of the amount of blame due to him for the trouble in which -they were mutually involved, but the physical weakness consequent upon -his sharp attack left him a prey to exaggerated feelings. That his -daughter, his treasure, whom he had believed few men worthy to possess, -should have been publicly insulted by a wretch like Oïdas to avenge -an ignoble vanity which conceived itself affronted--that so horrible -a stroke should have been dealt him by fate, and the heavens remained -unmoved and the blood of life still flow in his veins, vision not have -been struck from his appalled eyes! Pride lay dead at a stroke, and the -unhappy man felt that he could never again lift a front of dignity to -the light of day. - -Of her own wound Inarime thought nothing. To have got rid of the -offensive Oïdas was a gain, even if it cost her an insult. Her -father’s illness was her only care. Dr. Galenides ordered rest and -mountain air. Books, he opined, and cheerful shepherd surroundings -would more than do the work of physic. The simple sights of nature and -her restoring silence would relieve the shocked system, and the late -catastrophe should be ignored. - -Constantine travelled with them, moody and petulant by force of -unexhausted vengeance. He paced the deck, muttering and smoking, -smoking and muttering, forgetful of the clamours of the unassuaged -appetite, and consigned the courteous steward to the devil when -importuned to go down to dinner. Dinner indeed! while that fellow -lived who had stolen his friend Stavros from him, beaten him in his -election, and outraged his family. His days were passed in an open-eyed -bloody-minded dream, and he gloated over the picture of the thrashed -mayor, with his features reduced to a purple jelly, and his sneaking -frame doubled up with pain. He could have kissed Reineke’s hand in -gratitude. Horse-whipping was not in his line, but he understood, when -administered by proxy, what a very excellent thing it was. To himself -he plotted how when peace should have descended on the insulted and -angry household, he would manœuvre to reward Reineke. - -“He’ll marry her, he will, or my name’s not Constantine Selaka,” he -reiterated to himself, and took the wide expanse of sky and sea to -witness that it was a solemn oath. - -At Syra they were late for the bi-weekly boat, but Pericles would hear -of no delay, so they chartered a caique and shot across the placid -blue, as the trail of sunset glory faded out of the deepening sky and -Tenos showed below a solitary patch of green cloud. As they neared the -little pier, the swift, short twilight had touched the valleys and -lent mystery to the bare sweeps of hillside. A palm stood out upon -the sky and appealed to Inarime’s sad eyes in the language of intense -familiarity. She remembered to have noticed that one tree on her first -childish voyage to Syra and, on coming back, to have claimed it with -eager, friendly gaze. It seemed now that eagerness might henceforth -hold no part in her experiences, and she felt like one who was staring -back with sorrowful visage upon serene unnumbered years. The tears -came rapidly as she noted each feature of the dear familiar picture, -the background of her young life, and with them the magic thought that -Gustav, too, had gazed lingeringly, tenderly upon it, thrilled her -ineffably. She tried to imagine his impressions, and examined it keenly -to discover how it might strike upon strange vision. - -This is a craving of girls--to know how their lovers look upon things -both have seen; to get inside their sight and count their very -heart-beats. Women grow less exacting and imaginative, I believe, and -have more practical demands upon love. - -Aristides met them with mules and voluble utterances. - -“Where is Paleocapa?” Pericles demanded, remembering to cast a -searching glance about for the ruffian steward. - -“He went up to meet some fellows in Virgin Street. I’ve no doubt they -are in the Oraia Hellas,” answered Aristides. - -“Besotting himself with his abominable raki--the brute!--Annunziata is -well?” Selaka queried, sharply. - -“Did you ever know her ill? Kyria Helena is up at Xinara. Nothing -has happened since you left except the occasional backslidings of -Paleocapa, who at times cannot be kept from his raki and was no less -than thrice dead drunk. Oh, yes, Demetrius’ wife is dead, and Michael -the carpenter is going to be married to make up for the deficiency,” -Aristides chirped on, as heedless as a blackbird. - -“Will you give us peace, you chattering fool,” thundered Pericles with -an outburst of wholesome rage. - -The sharp perfumes of the thyme and pines were wafted on the cool -breezes of an April evening, as the little _cortège_ of mules, guided -by Aristides, wound slowly up the marble-stepped and rocky way, and -Inarime drew in the air with quivering nostrils and parted lips. It was -the air of home she breathed, fresh, untainted, smelling of upper hills -and far off-seas, not that of a dusty city cheapened by the presence -of all-pervading man. Thankfully she acknowledged the quiet of the -land, the view unbroken by moving object. Here, at least, might one -live unshamed, if even the heart were cut in twain. Upon the projecting -point of the Castro, hung one first pale star, steadfast and patient -like the light of a soul. Thus patiently and steadfastly should the -star of love shine for her, its flame softly and uncomplainingly -cherished by her. She would not again quit the shelter of her own grey -Castro that looked so desolately upon these valleys, like the ghost of -other centuries lured to the scene of its departed splendours. Her -spirit sprang towards it with a throb of solemn joy. Dear sight! she -could have clung to its burnt flanks and wept among its thymy crevices. - -Night was flying over the heavens as they rounded the little path under -it that leads into Xinara. The wind blew chill and balmy, and chased -skurrying clouds across the peeping stars, like shadows flailed by the -invisible powers to dim their mild radiance. Inarime shivered a little, -and turned anxiously to her father. - -“Pull up your coat-collar, father,” she entreated. - -Demetrius and Johannis were smoking at the shop door when the expected -procession passed through the village street. Michael was sitting in -his betrothed one’s kitchen, staring at her silently, and profusely -expectorating, which was his way of courting. All the villagers that -dwelt on high, leant over their rickety wooden balconies, sniffing the -evening air and talking in a subdued tone, and those below lounged -against door-jambs, or over garden walls. - -“Καγ ἑὁπἑρα,” waved upon many voices to Pericles and Inarime, and more -royal “Ζἡσω” to the King of Tenos. - -“Ζἡσω ὁ βασγἑυς ρἡς Τἡνου,” Demetrius sang out, cheerfully, and every -head uncovered, hats were frantically waved by the men, handkerchiefs -by the women. One foolish fellow high up, ran into the house for his -pistol and luxuriously fired off a couple of shots by way of salute. - -“Confound the idiots!” muttered Constantine, shuddering in his terror -of the explosion. He hated the sound or the idea of the weapon, and his -abortive duel with Stavros had not tended to lessen his instinctive -abhorrence. - -“No more of that, my good fellows,” he roared, commandingly. “Any -expression of your kind regard flatters me, but my brother has had an -illness, and is very much shaken. The ride from the town has proved -rather more than his strength is capable of, and your noisy enthusiasm -would quite prostrate him. Many thanks and good-night.” - -“Ζὁψω!” again shook the silence of night as they rode through the -village. - -“The Virgin be praised! We have back our own dear young lady,” Katinka -shrieked, kissing her fingers vigorously. - -Inarime waved her hand in gracious recognition, and the proud, -cherishing eyes of her adorers watched her slim figure, and the homely -shape of her charger until the twilight mist swallowed them out of -their sight. Annunziata and Kyria Helene stood at the little postern -gate to welcome them. The tender brightness of their glances and the -warmth of their cheering smiles struck the home-sick girl with the -force of a buffet. She stumbled choking into Annunziata’s arms, and -hung limp about her. - -“Annunziata, Annunziata,” she cried like a child. - -“My own girl! It is heaven to have you back. ‘When will she come?’ the -villagers ask me every day, and shake their heads mournfully at the -continued eclipse. Dear sir!” she added, as she caught the hands of -Pericles, and held them fondly. - -Pericles pressed her brown fingers, then kissed the cheeks of his -sister and pleaded for immediate rest. - -“It’s what we all need--supper and bed,” Constantine growled, turning -to abuse Aristides for delay. - -Oh, the poignant appeal to the senses of the dusky, sweet-smelling -courtyard, rich with its departing spring blooms! It swept Inarime like -the breath of childhood and filled her with fervent gratitude. To go -away for the first time and come back! A month may hold the meaning of -a cycle and awaken in the young heart all the fancies, the miseries and -joys of the wanderer. Astonishment thrilled her that this place should -greet her with its aspect of awful changelessness, and yet, if a stone, -a flower, a chair were changed, it would have left her dumb with aching -regret. - -Annunziata’s arm was round her, and she put up a timid hand to feel the -Turkish kerchief, the plait of false hair outside, and lovingly touched -the wrinkled cheek. - -“It is so good to be back with you,” she whispered. - -“My treasure! my dearest child! I have been with you since you were a -baby, and the sun did not shine for me while you were away,” the old -woman murmured, and her tearful eyes pierced the baffling glimmer of -early moonlight like glittering stars. - -The little white salon was cozy and inviting by lamplight, and beyond -it, in the inner room, the table was laid for supper. Constantine, dead -with fatigue, hunger and shaken bones, pounced on it like a famished -ogre, but a little soup and wine sufficed Inarime and Pericles. - -“Brother, you look thin and worn,” Helene exclaimed, eyeing him -doubtfully. - -“Has he not been ill?” screamed Constantine, between the noisy gulps of -his soup. - -“I am well enough, sister, but very weary,” said Pericles, rising from -the table. “Inarime, I would speak a word with you before I sleep.” - -She followed him to his room, and when he fell into a chair, she -crouched on her knees beside him. - -“My child, I have been humbled through you,” he began, musingly, while -his fingers gently stroked her hair. “Your instinct against my reason! -And instinct conquers, reason is beaten, and grievously rebuked. I -meant it for the best, my Inarime. But now I yield to your wishes. It -would have been well for me to have taken counsel with them from the -first. But this is ground upon which, perhaps, the old may always learn -from the young without disgrace.” - -His speech faltered and died away in supreme weariness. Inarime held -her breath. Could this mean the recall of Gustav? And yet the hope -seemed so wild that she dared not give it a transient shelter lest the -reaction should utterly overwhelm her. - -“To-morrow, father dear,” she urged, kissing his hand. “You are so -tired now.” - -“I have not much to say, and I hasten to have it over that I may not be -obliged to revive the painful subject. I will not seek again to oppose -your natural desire to remain unwedded, since you cannot hope to wed -where your heart is.” - -Tears of disappointment sprang to her eyes. She moved away from him in -silence, and then glancing over her shoulder, saw the droop of illness -in his frame, and his arms hanging languidly beside him. She was -smitten with remorse, and went back to him. - -“Thank you, father,” she said, softly. - -“Kiss me, my girl, and leave me,” he just breathed. - -She stooped over him and kissed him tenderly. All her reverent love -returned on a swell, and it seemed a small thing to give up her lover -to stay with her father always. The untroubled harmony of their -relations dwelt with her again. - -She went to her room, and opened the window to look out upon the -peaceful night scene. Her terrace ran round the house, and commanded a -view of the plain rolling to the distant sea and the girdling hills and -wide dim valleys. The moon was high under a white veil of milky way. -The bright metallic stars made a counter-radiance to her silver light, -and every leaf and rugged contour was sharply visible in the mystic -illumination. An oppressive silence lay upon the mountains, heavy -stillness enveloped the valleys; the leaves dropped silver, and the -flow of the torrents and the tiny quivering rills ran chill upon the -nerves. The spirit of water and moonlight pervaded the scene, running -through it with innumerable thin faint echoes. Every nook and crevice -lay revealed, and the shadows were defined with harsh distinctness, the -distances losing themselves in their own dark verges. Through the dusk, -yellow lights from the farm casements were sprinkled here and there, -and villages showed through their gardens and orchards as black masses -upon the barren highlands. - -Her heart was empty from excessive feeling as she looked across the -land. Oh, for courage and freedom to wander forth and touch with feet -and hands each well-remembered spot! A bat flitting through the air -brushed her cheek, and she looked up to follow its black passage. -She sat and watched everything, her energies expended in the delight -of recognition. The waves of white cloud stealing across the heavens, -and the moon imperceptibly beginning to dip, warned her that time was -running apace, and a fluttering movement in the trees underneath told -of birds softly stirring in their warm nests. The thought of their -warmth made her aware that her teeth were chattering and her limbs were -rigid with cold. - -Still she sat through the night, and watched the day ushered in upon -violet light, that soon glowed like fire. Crimson wings sped over the -sky with quivering promise. At their touch the stars seemed to tremble, -grew pale and were extinguished one by one. The little birds exulted in -their nests and essayed a note or two. Daylight broke upon the earth -from the fires of the East. Warmth travelled down the abysses of air, -and in its first caress the night-dews shone like jewels on the leaves -and flowers. The rapture of the birds grew into a spray of delirious -song; it dashed upwards with the ring of silver mellowing to gold as it -caught melody. The moon gazed pallid regret upon the scene and melted -away in sickly stealth, as the voices of the morning awoke with the -shrill crow of the cocks. Every folded leaf was now unclosed, and upon -the skirts of the flying dawn the sun rose and spread his tyrannous -light over hills and valleys. The world breathed in day, the dewdrops -were beginning to melt, and the song of the birds was insufferably -sweet to the ears. - -Her hands were clammy and her frame was stiff when Inarime rose and -entered her room. Never more would she be asked to leave this place. -The hand beggared of the touch of Gustav’s, she was now free to keep -unclaimed by any other man. Even that small boon was something to be -thankful for, and she blessed her father before flinging herself down -to snatch an hour of oblivion and rest for her tired young limbs. In a -few hours the kindly villagers would flock to welcome her in person, -and the dispensing of customary hospitalities would leave no time for -poignant thoughts. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -SHOWING A LADY KNIGHT-ERRANT TO THE RESCUE OF UNHAPPY LOVERS. - - -Spring waned in the extinguishing heat of summer. The noonday blue of -the heavens was lost in a warm grey mist. All the green was burnt off -the face of the earth, and the eyes turned in pain from the burning -hills and shadowless plain, from the awful glimmer of marble upon the -Acropolis and the hot streets below. Shade, shade, darkened chambers -and cool drinks, and the sweet siesta, curtained off from the sting of -the mosquito, were all that nature called for. - -The Baron and Baroness von Hohenfels had left Athens for the repose -of an Austrian country house. They knew that Rudolph and Photini -were wandering about the south of France with an inconvenient train -of live pets, a grand piano, a violin, and discontented hearts. More -than this they did not care to know, and patiently awaited the hour of -reform, when the wild oats period should have exhausted itself, and -the prodigal return to the comfort of more discreet irregularities, -hardened, cynical, and very well disposed to settle down in marriage. - -The Karapolos were looking forward with much satisfaction to the next -September move, and this time were in treaty with the owners of a flat -in Solon Street. Miltiades was away in Thessaly with his regiment, and -was not expected back until October. Andromache went about the same as -ever, and no one knew whether the wounds of her heart were permanent -or not. But Agiropoulos was attentive, though far from communicative -in the proper way, and Kyria Karapolos, in her state missives to the -absent hero, thought it not improbable that Andromache might be induced -to accept him. - -Little Themistocles was less on parade in Stadion Street because of the -exactions of the weather, but of an evening he cheerfully tortured his -violin, and unbosomed himself to his fellow-clerks in the Corinthian -bank. Things here as elsewhere went on very much as usual. The town -was rapidly thinning, and lodgings and hotels at Kephissia, Phalerum, -Munychia and the Piræus as rapidly filling. - -Gustav Reineke had been voyaging in Asia Minor with a party of English -archæologists bound upon an excavating expedition. Upon his return -to Athens, he found his old friend and admirer, Miss Winters, the -delightful little American, with her lovely snow-white hair and a -complexion as fresh as a girl’s. Gustav was charmed, and so was Miss -Winters. They struck at once into fraternity. He accompanied her -everywhere, carried her photographic apparatus, adjusted it, and as -soon as she disappeared under the cloth, applied himself to read aloud -the classics to her. She took full command of him, ordered and piloted -him in an impulse of protecting and authoritative motherhood that -soothed him unspeakably. He obeyed her with pleasure, and in return -imparted to her the story of his love. - -“And has the young lady no idea where you are?” she asked, struggling -frantically with her machine on the Acropolis. - -“None. I cannot write to her,” said Reineke, dejectedly. - -“What nonsense! You love her; she loves you. You have no right to lose -sight of each other. Have you never tried to write?” - -“No. I felt the right to do so was not conceded me.” - -“Nonsense! it is no question of right or wrong; it is simply natural. -Well, I see I cannot settle this to-day, so I had better go home and -put my other views in order. Did you say the old man, Selaka, lives in -the village of Xinara?” - -“Xinara, Tenos,” nodded Gustav. - -“I see. Well, carry this home for me, then go and stay quietly in your -hotel,--I may have something to tell you in a few days.” - -He carried his burden to her rooms, which faced the columns of Jupiter, -gallantly kissed her tiny hand, and turned with a soft smile in his -eyes as he walked to the Hôtel de la Grande Bretagne. - -“I will certainly make a journey to America to see that charming little -lady,” he said to himself, and while he sat in his room waiting for -the short blue twilight, he took out of his breast pocket the only -remembrance of Inarime he possessed--the unfinished verses he had found -some months ago at the Austrian Embassy. - -Everything on the Acropolis had been photographed from every possible -point of view, and nearly everything in the museums, and on the day -they had arranged to start for Sunium, Miss Winters met Reineke with a -portentous air. - -“Mr. Reineke, I have heard from that old man, and, indeed, he is not -worth much. He is just an old heathen.” - -Gustav laughed, touched by the irresistible humour of hearing Miss -Winters, herself more than half a pagan, abuse any one on the ground of -heathenism. - -“What are you laughing at, sir?” she asked, frowning. - -“Oh, I was not quite prepared to hear you turn upon the heathens, I -thought you were in such thorough sympathy with them.” - -“With the ancient heathens, if you please,” corrected Miss Winters. -“That is very different from modern heathenism. The ancients were -respectable, upright and religious men, fearing the gods and respecting -the laws of nature. But your Selaka! He has all the vices of the -Christian, without any of the virtues of the pagan.” - -“Selaka! What of him?” cried Gustav, opening his eyes. - -“Did I not tell you? I have heard from him.” - -“Heard from Selaka? How? When?” - -“Through the post--how else? I wrote to him.” - -Reineke sat dumfounded and stared at her. He believed the courage -of woman in managing the affairs of stricken man went far; but this -utterly surpassed the limitations he allowed it. - -“You wrote to him,” he murmured. - -“Certainly, it was high time some sane person undertook the task of -reasoning with him, and convincing him of his folly.” - -“And might I ask how you applied yourself to this task? upon what -grounds you based your arguments?” - -“Well, I told him you are no more a Turk than I am.” - -Gustav exploded hilariously. - -“Why, you know you are not. You are just as Greek as you can very well -be,--far more so than he is, you bet.” - -“Well?” - -“He did not see it;--of course not, the old lunatic.” - -“May I be permitted to look at the letter, Miss Winters?” - -“There it is. It is a very instructive letter in its way, written in -far better German than mine.” - -Gustav took the letter, and studied it leisurely. It was dignified -and courteous, spoke in high terms of himself as a man of honour and -learning to whom he should, in other circumstances, have been proud to -entrust his daughter’s happiness. But its tone was unmistakable, its -decision unalterable. Gustav sighed heavily as he returned it to Miss -Winters. - -“He’s a fanatic--that’s just what he is,” she cried. - -“And the worst of it is, Miss Winters, one is forced to admire such -consistent and adamantine fanaticism, though its bigotry be the bar to -one’s own happiness.” - -“Why, of course, that’s the worst of it. If there were not such an -element of nobility in it I should not want to shake him so much. It -is always a satisfaction to be able to call the person who opposes or -frustrates your purpose a scoundrel or a brute--but not to be able to -call him anything harder than a pig-headed old pagan, and to have to -smile admiration through one’s rage of disappointment, puts a point -upon one’s anger. Well, never mind, Mr. Reineke. I’ll thwart him yet. -I’ll write to the girl next.” - -Gustav gasped and doubtless thought--as the French critic thought of -Moses--“cette femme est capable de tout.” - -They went together to Sunium, and photographed everything in the -neighbourhood, ruins, peasants in fustanella and embroidered jackets, -women in embroidered tunics and headgear of coins and muslin, and then -went to Corinth and accomplished similar wonders there. - -“I quite feel as if I had a son,” said Miss Winters, patting Gustav’s -hand affectionately. - -“What a pretty and youthful mother I have found,” laughed Reineke. - -Miss Winters delayed in Corinth to write a chapter of her book on -Greece, and Gustav lounged about with the piratical tendencies of an -archæologist. When they reached Athens, borne down by the weight of -manuscripts, vases and photographs, Miss Winters found a notification -from the Corinth post-office that a letter was waiting for her “au -_bourreau_ d’ Athènes.” - -“Good heavens, Mr. Reineke, can I in some inexplicable way have brought -myself under the penalties of the law? Is it forbidden, under pain of -death, to photograph ruins and views of Greece? What connection can I -possibly have with the executioner of Athens?” - -Gustav laughed and suggested “bureau,” and went off himself to the -post-office, where, indeed, he found a letter addressed to Miss Winters -in the beautiful calligraphy he so well knew. Then she had written to -Inarime, and he held the answer in his hand! He looked at it lovingly, -reverentially, and just within the arches of the post-office, glancing -hastily around to ascertain that he was not observed, he raised the -envelope to his lips. He gave it to Miss Winters without a word, and -went away. That evening Miss Winters came to him at his hotel, silently -put the letter into his hand, and closed the door of his room as she -went out softly, as one closes the door of a sick chamber. - -Gustav sat watching the letter timidly, afraid to learn its contents, -and the desire of it burned his cheek and quickened his pulse like -fever. How would the silence of months be broken? Would her message -realise his high expectations? Would the world be less empty for -him because of it? Would this fierce ache of the heart drop into a -contented memory? He felt her arms about his neck, her lips upon his, -her glance pierced his own through to his inmost soul, held her in his -clasp, and lived again their short impassioned hour. How bright the -rain-drops had looked upon the winter grasses and curled leaves, how -clear the song of the birds in the moist air! The moments fled with the -hurry of rapture, his beating pulses timed to their measureless speed. - -Still Inarime’s letter lay unopened in his hand. - -He saw her in the courtyard at Xinara remonstrating with the sobbing -woman crouched at her feet; felt his gaze compel hers and drew in -his breath with a catch of pain at the memory of the sweet surprised -surrender of her eyes,--followed slowly, obediently, her vanishing form -with that last long look of hers to feed his hungry soul. - -And still the letter was unread. - -He sat trifling with his happiness and his misery, scarcely daring -to open it, shaken with the apprehensions of yearning, hardly strong -enough to lash himself to courage by the past--enervated, sick with -expectation, chill with fright. Slowly he took the sheet out of the -envelope, and bent his eyes upon it, not noticing that a thinner sheet -had fallen to the ground. - -Thus it ran: - - - “MADAME,-- - - “I am abashed before the thought of my deep indebtedness to you, - and the knowledge that it will never be my good fortune to repay - you. More to me than your kind words is the comfort of knowing - that, separated from him you write of as I am, by a fatality I - have neither voice nor influence to avert, your presence makes - amends to him for my enforced silence. Your letter breathes of - tender regard for him. Is not that a debt of some magnitude you - place on me? A debt I am proud to acknowledge. Alas! Madame, - it is useless to hope to combat my father’s repugnance to the - marriage you appear to think so natural. I know my father. His - prejudices are few, and strong indeed must be that which raises - an impassable barrier to my happiness. I hold it as a religious - duty to respect it, and smother the feelings of rebellion that - sometimes rise and stiffen my heart against him. I have no right - to rebel, for he loves me--oh, he loves me very dearly. I think - he would almost give his life for mine, and most willingly would - I lay down mine for his. Since I was a little child he has cared - for me and cherished me. He has tried to make me the sharer of - his great learning, that there might be no division between us, - that I might be rather a disciple following afar than an alien - to the one object of his existence. You see, it is no common - bond you ask me to break. It would be something more than the - flight of a daughter,--it would be the defection of a pupil--and - he, the tenderest master! I could not bear, by any action of - mine, to forfeit my worthiness of such exclusive devotion, and - should I not do so past excuse if I were to cause him one pang of - disappointment or anger? - - “To follow your counsel, and take my destiny into my own hands - by one wild leap into the bliss my heart calls for, would be to - risk his anger without the assurance that ultimately I should be - forgiven. Do not urge me to it, I beseech you. My father ill and - alone! The thought would make a mockery of my happiness. It would - be a pall upon my bridal robes. Forgive me, Madame. I love you - for your wish to help me, though the effort be ineffectual. If - I boldly seem to criticise, believe me, it is with no intention - to wound. You will think me a coward, perhaps, for I know that - it is different with the women of your race. They act without - scruple for themselves, and their parents have no other choice - than to yield to theirs. But I cannot bring myself to regard - this as right. _He_ cannot surely desire that I should come to - him thus--with the stain of strife and revolt upon our love. You - see I am fastidiously jealous of the future. It is so fatally - easy for the young, upon the impetus of ungovernable passion, to - let themselves be precipitated into rash errors: so difficult to - recover forfeited ground. - - “But how fervently I thank you for your sweet sympathy and your - offer of a home until such time as another would be mine, I have - not words to say. Your heart must be fresh to be so tenderly open - to the sorrows of the young. I shall bless the day that brings us - face to face. If you would visit our island! But we are so rough - and backward, and the stillness, I fear, would prove oppressive to - one from a country where, I am assured, movement is the extremity - of haste. And yet I love the place all the more from my short - absence from it. It was like heaven to see it again, to feel the - untrodden ground beneath my feet, to watch the unfretted stars - from a world below as uneager and as changeless. The seasons are - not more regular than our habits, and excitement is undreamed of - by us. The villagers come to me with their simple woes, and I - comfort them and doctor them, and instil into them such wisdom - as my young head has mastered. Sometimes my dear father comes to - my help,--not often, for they are less afraid of me. It is, I - suppose, because I am nearer to them. - - “This letter shames me, it is so idle and garrulous. What have I - to say but that I love you, Madame,--I love you, and beg you to - accept the assurance of my heartfelt gratitude and my affectionate - friendship. - - “INARIME SELAKA.” - - -This letter might seem to lack the artlessness and spontaneity of -girlhood. But its very restraint held a precious eloquence for Gustav, -and it was not the less dear to him because he felt the writer was -completely master of her mind. It held no want for him. He read -between the lines, and adored the eyes the more that he understood -their tears were held in check. The lips may have trembled in the -reawakened force of passion, the gaze have grown dim with longing, -the pulses throbbed to ache and ebbed away upon the sickening wave -of despair, but the letter only breathed of weakness conquered, the -pressure of a restraint imposed by life-long habit, and could not be -called artificial. He reverenced her sweet reasonableness and her grave -acceptance of the inevitable. He re-read the letter carefully, and -kissed the name at the end. Why had she avoided the writing of his? -He began to walk about the room, picking out sentences to burn upon -his memory, when his eyes detected a slip of paper upon the ground. -He pounced upon it with a presentiment of what it was. _Herrn Gustav -Reineke_ was written outside, and it was delicately folded. He opened -it, and his breathing could have been heard at the other end of the -room. - - - “Dear One--my dearest! My father has at last consented to let me - remain unmarried--but that is all. We may hope for nothing more. - Still, our love is respected. I cannot think it is wrong of me to - send you this message. At least, I hope it is not. You have my - faith. O, I love you, I love you.” - - -Gustav sat through the night with his head bent over this message. -Desires and thoughts and wild hopes wavered and shot through him like -arrows, now swift and sharp, now blunt and slow, needlessly lacerating -in their passage. When morning came he shook off his dream, and replied -to Miss Winter’s glance of veiled interrogation by a look supplicating -silence. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -HOW A MAID OF ATHENS AVENGED HERSELF. - - -One day late in October the news somehow or other reached Rudolph, when -at Cannes, that Selaka and his daughter were back in Athens. Without a -word of explanation to Photini, who was engaged upon a public concert, -he started off, and arrived in Athens late at night. The Baron and -Baroness von Hohenfels were startled at their midday breakfast, next -morning, by the entrance of the prodigal. - -“Rudolph, good heavens!” cried the baron, and shook him gladly by the -hand, but Rudolph was cold almost to rudeness. He suffered himself -to be embraced by his aunt, and then went and stood against the -mantelpiece. It was impossible not to note and deplore the change in -him: from an engaging and innocent boy he had turned, in less than -a year, into a hard and reckless-looking young-old man. His air was -aristocratic but strangely unattractive, and his fair face was lined as -no face should be lined at twenty-two. The blue eyes that used to be so -soft in their clearness, so like his mother’s, as the Baroness thought, -were now keen and glittering and held a dull fire within them. He stood -thus looking moodily down, and then said curtly: - -“You are surprised to see me, I suppose?” - -“Well, I will admit,” the baron answered, “something in the nature of -an announcement might have been expected, as a reasonable concession to -the laws of courtesy. But since you are here, you had better sit down -and take some breakfast with us.” - -Rudolph laughed, and took a chair at the table. Before eating he -poured himself out a generous tumbler of wine, and drank it almost -at a draught. The baron stared a little, looked across at his wife, -and lifted his brows meaningly. The talk at first was light. Rudolph -touched upon the places he had seen, and made himself exceedingly -witty and merry at the expense of the distinguished personages he -had met in the course of his travels. He asked how matters stood at -Athens; inquired after Agiropoulos and Mademoiselle Veritassi, the -Mowbray-Thomases, and his friend the young Viscount, but never a word -was said about Andromache. Then lying back in his chair, and lighting a -cigar, the baron asked, with a mocking smile. - -“And, my amiable nephew, how fares it with the fascinating Natzelhuber?” - -Rudolph drew in his brows with a frown, and looking hastily at his -aunt, said: - -“We will not discuss her, sir, if you please.” - -“Oh,” assented the baron, interjectionally, and busied himself with his -cigar; “may one, without indiscretion, be permitted to inquire into -your plans for the future?” - -“I have no plans,” said Rudolph, taking up a cigar. - -“At least I see,” laughed the baron, “you have succumbed to the -beneficial influence of tobacco.” - -“Yes, I smoke now; I do most things now that other men do.” - -“So I perceive,” said the baron, drily, “you even look as if you did -a little more,” he added, noting that Rudolph had helped himself to a -second glass of brandy. - -When Rudolph stood up, the baroness stopped him with a demand to know -if they might expect the pleasure of his presence at dinner that night. - -The young man nodded and left the room. - -“A singularly altered young man,” said the baron, across to his -wife, “it seems to me that the Natzelhuber has imparted some of her -natural courtesy to him, and given his manners the piquant flavour of -originality!” - -“Oh, he is frightfully changed,” said the baroness; “and did you remark -his deplorable weakness for wine?” - -“Well, yes, it struck me, I confess, that he rather copiously washed -down the small allowance of food he indulged in.” - -“Poor boy, we must only try and keep him here now that we have him, and -get up a few lively entertainments for him. That he is wretched it is -easy to see. I think his recklessness comes from despair.” - -The baron shrugged his shoulders. “That is always the way with -well-brought-up youths,--the slightest folly plays the very mischief -with their temperaments, and they are ever in extremes, whether on the -path of virtue or on the more fascinating road to the dogs!” - -While the easy-going ambassador was thus moralising, Rudolph was -scouring Athens in search of tidings of the Selakas. Having ascertained -at the _Hôtel des Étrangers_ that they had gone out for a drive, he -returned to the Embassy, borrowed one of his uncle’s horses, and was -soon out upon the open road, sweeping the plain of Attica with eager -glances strained in every direction for the carriage in which the -father and daughter might be found. - -Upon the skirt of the olive-misted plain he dismounted, and entered the -leafy shade of a little café garden, lost in a glade of scented pines -and oleanders. Here he called for cognac, and sat moodily smoking until -the sun went down. - -Let us glance at the house of Karapolos now, situated in Solon Street. -Miltiades is back from Thessaly, more glorious and more ferocious than -ever. He learnt that morning of Rudolph’s reappearance in Athens, and -communicated that fact to his family at dinner. That evening, as he -returned from duty, he missed a dainty silver pistol his friend Hadji -Adam had given him. With a brow of thunder and voice of menace he -sallied forth and had his servant Theodore arrested for the robbery. -While Theodore was being carried off, shrieking and protesting, and -calling upon all the saints and the Virgin and the soul of his dead -mother to witness that he was being falsely accused, Andromache, for -some unaccountable reason was wandering about the steep solitudes of -Lycabettus in company with the faithful Maria. She had been allowed to -go forth in pursuit of veils and gloves in the frequented street of -Hermes. Now, what, one asks, could take a young lady towards sunset up -a lonely and rugged slope of Lycabettus, when her ostensible journey -lay in the region of shops? This was a secret known only to Andromache -and to the faithful Maria. - -On the following afternoon, Andromache begged her mother to take her to -hear the band play upon Constitution Square. The square was thronged, -the ladies, as is customary in Athens, walking together, and the men -in similar fraternity, Captain Miltiades was with these, and so were -Agiropoulos and the popular poet. - -A close observer might have noticed that Andromache’s pretty dark -blue eyes glistened with a curious light; that the blood had left her -face and lips, and that she walked like one in a state of nervous -excitement. Poor, betrayed, little Andromache! if only she had confided -her frantic purpose to somebody, and had not all these months repressed -her sorrow, and striven to show a brave front to the curious world! -Many horrors are spared the loquacious, and the worst follies are -those committed by silent sufferers. Andromache kept looking fixedly -round in evident watch for some one. If you want to meet any one in -Athens, you are sure to do so between Stadion Street and Constitution -Square. The person Andromache was looking for soon made his appearance, -walking casually along, not caring greatly to examine the people that -were hustling against him. He sat down at a café table, and called for -coffee, and while waiting for it began to roll up a cigarette, and -unconsciously hummed the melody of Waldteufel’s “Souvenir,” which the -band was playing. Andromache made a step forward from her mother’s -side to the table at which Rudolph was seated; and in a second she -whipped out of her breast the little silver pistol, for the loss of -which Theodore was in prison, and fired straight at the shoulder of -her recreant lover. Imagine the commotion, the whirr of speech and -explanation, the jostling to look at the injured maid and the wounded -man. The band stopped playing in the middle of Waldteufel’s charming -waltz, band-master and band attracted to the spot. Strange as it may -appear, all Hellenic sympathies were upon the side of Andromache: not a -single voice of censure was raised against her, but everybody seemed to -think that she had performed a feat of courage. Here her courage ended; -the pistol fell from her hand, and she dropped rigid into her mother’s -arms. She was carried home, and soon passed into the unconsciousness -of brain fever. Rudolph was not seriously injured, but faint enough to -need the help of a carriage to take him back to the Austrian Embassy, -with the prospect of confinement to his room for a few days. - -The Baron von Hohenfels in his official position was greatly perturbed -by this scandal, and made immediate application for a change of -post. He was too angry to visit his luckless nephew’s room until the -baroness’ prayers melted him. When Dr. Galenides had seen the patient, -and pronounced him in a favourable condition for recovery, the baron -suffered himself to be led to the bedside. - -Rudolph looked very piteous upon his pillow, with the flush of fever -on his white cheeks and a harassed, humble expression in his eyes. The -much aggrieved baron relented, hummed and hawed a little as a kind of -impatient protest, stroked his beard, and finally began, in a softened -voice: - -“My dear boy, are you quite satisfied now that you have made Athens too -hot for an Austrian Ambassador?” - -“I am very sorry, uncle,” said Rudolph, and he looked it. - -“Well, yes, I can quite believe that you are not exactly jubilant.” - -“As soon as I am well enough to move, I’ll leave Greece, and wild -horses will never drag me here again.” - -“On the whole, I think you have done fairly well upon the classic -shores of Hellas, and it would be as well to confine yourself to the -rest of Europe during the remainder of your mortal career. But it is -a little hard on me that my family should reflect discredit upon my -country. Zounds! Could you not have understood that the Greeks are a -most susceptible and clannish race? There is one thing they will not -forgive, and that is an affront done a compatriot by a stranger. And we -Austrians, you must know, are not more adored here than the English. -In fact, we are hated. If the French Viscount had jilted Mademoiselle -Andromache Karapolos, and had been shot at by her, public indignation -would have taken a considerably modified tone.” - -“What can I do, uncle?” asked Rudolph, penitently. - -“Get well as soon as possible, and give Athens a wide berth. I cannot -advise you to fling yourself at the feet of the fair Andromache, for -I don’t believe that young lady could very well persuade herself -to forgive you after this public scandal. It is a stupid affair -altogether. I thought you were flirting, but an engagement! Good -heavens! What do you imagine to be the value of a gentleman’s word? A -promise of marriage is not a thing that can be lightly made, because -it is not a thing that can ever be lightly broken. The man is called a -cad, and the woman a jilt; and both are greatly the worse for such a -reputation.” - -Rudolph said nothing, but his way of turning on his pillow was a direct -appeal for mercy. The baron felt it to be so, and got up, believing -that the heavy responsibilities of uncle were accomplished with grace -and dignity. - -When the illustrious Dr. Galenides called next day, he found his -patient so far recovered that he felt disposed to sit at his bedside, -and chat with him in a friendly way. - -“My dear young friend,” he said, cheerfully, “it is the fault of -youth, and perhaps, in a measure, its virtue, to be too precipitate. -If intelligent young people could only be induced to take for their -motto that wise and ancient precept, ‘Μησἑν ἁγαν’--which I believe the -French translate as ‘le juste milieu,’--there would be no such thing as -maidens forced to avenge themselves by means of a pistol, nor young men -deserving such treatment.” - -Rudolph shrank a little, and said, with assumed coldness: - -“Pray, doctor, do not think hardly of her. I behaved badly to her, and -only cowardice kept me from going to her and asking her to forgive me.” - -Dr. Galenides smiled and bowed. - -“She is regarded as a heroine now.” - -“And I, my uncle tells me, as a cad,” cried Rudolph, bitterly. - -“Well, not exactly as a hero, I have to admit.” - -“Have you heard how she is, doctor?” - -“Very ill indeed--brain fever,--but she is young and strong.” - -“Doctor, if you see her, will you take her a message? I dare not write. -Tell her my sufferings have been greater than hers, and tell her I -shall always remember her as a sweet and charming girl far too good for -me. I hope she will be happy. As for me, doctor, my life is wrecked -upon the threshold.” - -“One always thinks so at twenty-two. At thirty-two one understands -that it is rather difficult to wreck a man’s life. Get well, my dear -Monsieur Ehrenstein. Life is a very pleasant thing, I assure you, full -of kindly surprise and interest. And remember the wise motto of my old -friends--‘Μησἑν ἁγαν’--neither extreme, the just middle,” ended the -physician, balancing by way of illustration a paper knife upon his -finger. - -While Dr. Galenides was putting on his gloves, the baroness entered -the room, accompanied by Pericles Selaka. Rudolph’s face went bright -scarlet, and then turned white, with a pinched, and anxious expression. - -“You, Pericles!” cried Dr. Galenides, with something like alarm in his -voice. “I was on my way to you.” - -“Oh, I am much better to-day, and wanted very much to see how this -other patient of yours is getting on,” said Selaka, approaching. - -“Are you ill, too?” asked Rudolph, excitedly. - -“A little unwell, but it is nothing,” answered Selaka, with a smile, as -he took Rudolph’s hand and held it. - -Dr. Galenides glanced significantly at the baroness, and went away. - -Selaka leant across the side of the bed, and looked steadily at -Rudolph, over whom the baroness was hovering with maternal attentions. -The sick man reached out his hand to take his aunt’s, and held it an -instant to his lips. - -“Poor fellow! you will be excited in a minute,” said the baroness. - -“It is kind of you, Herr Selaka, to come to me,” Rudolph said, in -German. - -“I am sorry for what has happened,” returned Selaka. “I know nothing -more regrettable than the frantic precipitancy and anger of youth. -I cannot understand why you should have made a promise you did not -consider binding, or why, having made it, you should have broken -it. It would not be my place to speak upon a matter so delicate and -so private, did I not feel, through a member of my family, partly -responsible for your misbehaviour.” - -“I doubt the utility or kindness of scolding the wrong-doer when the -mischief is done,” interrupted the good-natured baroness. - -“Scold! I trust I do not seem to scold, madame,” said Selaka, opening -his eyes, and thrusting out his hand with an air of stately reproach. -“Not even you can be more sorry for this young man’s misfortune. He -is much censured at present. But my voice is not amongst those that -censure him. I simply do not understand how he can have behaved so -unwisely. But my heart is filled with pity for him. I am sure he never -wished to wrong or pain any one, and I deeply feel that one of my name -should unconsciously have been the means of bringing this grief upon -him, and upon others. Had he trusted me when he first found his faith -wavering where he had hoped it anchored, I should have taken measures -to protect him from his own uncertain heart. Believe me, it would -have been best so, and you, my poor young friend, would have been the -happier.” - -“Perhaps you are right, sir,” said Rudolph, wearily. “I am sure I -do not know. But tell me--tell me something about her--about your -daughter. Does she despise me?” - -“She grieves for you, and deplores her own disastrous influence upon -you.” - -“She need not. I do not desire that she should grieve for me,” cried -Rudolph. “You all speak of me as if I had committed some frightful -crime--a murder, a forgery, a felony--as if I had incurred indelible -shame. Granted I have misbehaved myself--we will even grant that I -have not acted as a gentleman--am I the first to find he had given his -promise to the wrong person?” - -“Rudolph Ehrenstein, you well know you have done worse than this,--you -affronted your deserted bride by linking your life in the face of the -world with that of a woman who had already incurred public odium. This -is what grieves me most, and it is this step I feel that drove that -unhappy girl to her mad act.” - -“We will not speak of her, if you please, Herr Selaka,” said Rudolph, -with a proud look. “As for Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, it wounds me that -she should be so cruelly misjudged. Believe me, under more fortunate -circumstances, she would have been a good woman. She is full of -kindness and sympathy for every phase of misery. She gives away the -money she earns more freely than many rich people spend that which they -inherit. She is an unhappy woman, sir; there is nothing base or shabby -in her, and I am not so sure that there is not a good deal that is -noble.” - -“I can well believe you, Herr Rudolph. I have not the honour of knowing -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, and the public voice rather loves to spread -abroad the fame of glaring vices than that of private virtues. The -lady, I believe, has made a point of shocking every accepted canon -of taste, and, of course, society revenges itself by painting her as -black as possible. But we Greeks, despite our French tastes, are a -very sober and a very moral people, and a step like yours takes away -our breath. This sounds like preaching, does it not? But I am grieved, -distressed. I would have given you Inarime,--once, I almost wished it. -However, it was useless to hope for that. My daughter’s heart is given -elsewhere, and it is well now that it is so. Still, had you told me of -this entanglement, had you left it in my power to aid you! Young men, I -know, sometimes shrink from opening their hearts to their parents and -relatives. But me you would have found indulgent and perhaps helpful.” - -Rudolph stretched out his hand and Selaka clasped it warmly. - -“Thank you, sir! It would have made all the difference if Inarime -thought as you do. Do you know why I came back to Athens?” - -“I think I can guess,” said Selaka, smiling. - -“Oh, I loved her so! and, Heaven help me, I cannot choose but love her -still. May I hope to see her, sir?” he asked, humbly. - -“No, Herr Rudolph,” said Selaka, shaking his head. “That I cannot -permit, nor would she consent. In the years to come, when I shall be no -more, it will be for her to choose her friends, but as long as I stand -between her and the world those friends shall be spotless, or at least -their names shall be untainted by the breath of public scandal.” - -“The lives of young men would be very different if all parents were -as particular and severe as you, Herr Selaka,” observed the baroness, -turning round from the window. - -Rudolph moved upon his pillow, and covered his eyes with his arm. - -“You are right, sir, I am not worthy to look upon her,” he said. - -Suddenly there was heard from the hall an ominous sound, the louder -because of the stillness of the house. The baroness ran to the door -and held it open, listening anxiously. Could that voice, pitched in a -key of lofty indignation, be mistaken for other than the voice of an -angry hero? Ah, who but Miltiades, the glory of modern Athens, could -stride in that magnificent fashion through a hall, clatter and clang -his spurs along the tessellated pavement, rattle and shake the stairs, -the balustrade, with as much noise as all the heroes of Homer sacking -Ilion; nodding fearful menace in his crimson plumes and sending potent -lightning flames with his violet glances? - -The baroness looked question and alarm at Selaka, and poor Rudolph, -cowed by weakness and fright, shuddered among his pillows, whiter far -than the linen that framed his face. - -“Do not seek to bar my passage, menial,” Miltiades was roaring, as the -clatter and clang of sword and spurs approached the sick chamber. “It -is Monsieur Rudolph Ehrenstein I desire to see.” - -Even Rudolph could not resist a ghastly smile at hearing his name -so curiously pronounced by the warrior. Miltiades stood upon the -threshold, and the baroness could not have looked more petrified if she -had found herself confronted by an open cannon. - -“Madame,” said Miltiades, ever the pink of courtesy, as the brave -should be to the fair; after his most ceremonious military salute, he -advanced a step, and said, “I have a few words to say to your nephew, -Monsieur Rudolph Ehrenstein.” - -“Enter, enter, I pray you, Captain Karapolos,” said the baroness in -rather halting but intelligible Greek. “My nephew is ill--as you see. -Perhaps you will consent to spare him the unpleasantness of a scene. He -is very ill.” - -“So, madame, is my sister. Dr. Galenides tells me she will hardly -recover. Is this to be borne quietly--think you?” - -“Kyrie Selaka, explain to him--I do not know Greek well enough. Tell -him how grieved, how miserably sad the baron and I are about this -business. Speak kindly for us and try to soothe him. I understand he -must be in a desperate state, and heaven knows how sincerely I pity -him. Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph, when will you young men learn to think of -others as well as yourselves?” she cried, distractedly. - -“Captain Karapolos, this proceeding of yours is surely as unseemly as -it is futile,” said Selaka. “What good do you expect can come of such a -step? It will not restore your sister to health and happiness, and you -but needlessly inflict pain upon this lady, who is sincerely distressed -for you. My dear sir, the great lesson of life is, that the inevitable -must be accepted. We cannot go back on our good deeds or our ill, and -it is not now in the power of this young man to repair the mischief he -has done. The consequences of wrongdoing cannot be shirked by those who -suffer them, or by those who have done the wrong. They baffle each step -of flight and struggle, and hunt us down remorselessly.” - -“My dear sir, such stuff may suit a pulpit or a university chair, but -it offends the ear of a soldier. I care not a jot for the inevitable, -and, as far as I am concerned, this young man will answer to me for his -evil deeds--to me, sir, Miltiades Karapolos, captain of King George’s -Artillery,” shouted Miltiades, slapping his chest emphatically. - -Rudolph sat up in bed, and asked feebly: - -“Did he say, Herr Selaka, that Andromache is very ill?” - -Selaka bowed, and Miltiades glared interrogation. - -“Dangerously ill?” - -“It appears so.” - -“Oh, good God! what a wretch I have been! Please tell him, if she -gets better, and will consent to forgive me, I will gladly fulfil my -engagement. Tell him it was not because Andromache ceased to be dear -to me that I left her, but that, loving somebody else, I felt I had -ceased to be worthy of her. Tell him it was not, heaven knows, for my -pleasure I so acted, that it was a horrible grief to me.” - -Miltiades glanced suspiciously from one to the other, and looked -annihilation and contempt upon the sick youth. - -“What does the fellow say?” he demanded, fiercely. - -Selaka faithfully repeated Rudolph’s message. If Miltiades had been -thunder before, he was lightning now added. He stalked to the bed, -struck Rudolph full in the face, and without another word strode from -the room. - -“Good gracious!” cried the baroness, and fell limply into a chair. - -“I must get well now,” muttered Rudolph, between his teeth. - -Next day Agiropoulos and the popular poet called. It was known all over -Athens that, as well as having been shot at by the sister, Rudolph had -been struck by the brother. Agiropoulos took a fiendish delight in -the situation. Personally he asked nothing better than to console the -heroine as soon as she should have struggled back from the encompassing -shadows of unreason. He was quite ready to place at her disposal -fortune, hand, and heart, as much as he possessed of that superfluous -commodity, which, it must be confessed, was little enough. He loved -notoriety in any form, and was enchanted with the veil of romance that -enveloped Andromache, not in the least scrupulous upon the point that -the veil was smirched with powder and blood. If possible, these unusual -stains but gave an added impetus to his interest. - -“Well, my young friend,” he said, sitting down and elegantly crossing -his legs, while, the better to survey the sorry hero of the tragedy, he -adjusted his eye-glass with that peculiar grimace common to those thus -decorated. “You look a little the worse for Mademoiselle Andromache’s -last embrace--eh?” he queried, and turned with a smile to the popular -poet. - -“He has the air of Endymion after the desertion of Diana,” said the -poet. - -“Was Endymion deserted? Faith, that is a piece of mythological -information for me. We live and learn, eh, Ehrenstein?” - -“I suppose so,” said Rudolph, drearily. “The learning is not more -pleasant than the living.” - -“You charming boy! so delightful to know that innocence still -flourishes in our midst. The century is exhausted, but a young heart -is a perennial fount of misery. For, my young friend, there is no more -sure prophecy of youth and innocence than utter woe and dejection. If -you give him time, Michaelopoulos will put that into a neat verse for -you.” - -“Don’t, pray. I hate poetry,” cried Rudolph. - -“It is, I believe, on record that babes have been known to hate milk,” -said Agiropoulos, blandly. - -“Don’t weary me with smart talk. I have other things to think of, -Agiropoulos, and cannot listen to your witticisms,” protested Rudolph. - -“Don’t mention it. I will be dull to please you. May a poor forsaken -wretch inquire after the health of a quondam mistress?” - -“Agiropoulos, if you have not got the breeding of a gentleman, try to -remember when you are in the presence of one,” cried Rudolph. - -“Whew!” whistled Agiropoulos, with his enigmatic smile. - -“I suppose, Ehrenstein, you don’t exactly want another challenge?” - -“I want nothing, and I most certainly don’t want you.” - -“Is this delirium, think you, Michaelopoulos?” - -“Looks uncommonly like it,” the poet replied. - -“Let me feel your pulse, Monsieur Endymion--what an appropriate -comparison for the moment! That young gentleman was, we are given -to understand, partial to the recumbent attitude. But we are rather -embarrassed by our choice of Selene. Which shall it be, Ehrenstein, -first, second or third?” - -“Will you do me the favour of leaving my room, sir?” ordered Rudolph, -frigidly. “When I have finished with Captain Miltiades Karapolos, I -shall be happy to dispose of your claims, Agiropoulos, and then of your -friend’s, if he thinks proper to demand the privilege.” - -“And then of each of the desposyné Inarime’s suitors, comprising a list -of two members of parliament, a mayor, a justice of the peace, forty or -fifty bachelor islanders and a distinguished archæologist. Don’t forget -the archæologist, I implore you, Rudolph. Demolish him before you touch -me, or Michaelopoulos--the name is rather long, but practice will -accustom your tongue to it--besides, your mellifluous German will be a -substantial aid. First lay low the mighty Karapolos, and in a moment -you avenge five thousand desolate Turkish hearths--have they hearths -in Turkey? Then give the deathly accolade to the archæologist. After -that, of course, these two humble individuals are entirely at your -disposal, as the courtly Spaniards say. Do you know Spanish? Neither -do I. Ta-ta, my friend. You have a heavy day’s work before you when -you get well, Monsieur Endymion. To sweep off the face of the earth a -Greek hero, a Greek poet, a Greek merchant, a Turkish archæologist, an -insular demarch, two members of parliament, a justice of the peace, and -fifty Teniotes. Lead me from the presence of this bloodthirsty youth, -friend. I shudder,” cried Agiropoulos. - -Mighty is the passion of anger--mightier far than that of love. Anger -lifted Rudolph out of his sick bed, and placed him, one chill November -morning, opposite Miltiades in a lonely field under the Shadow of -Lycabettus, with Hadji Adam for his antagonist’s second and the French -Viscount for his own. The duel terminated for Rudolph, as nineteenth -century duels frequently do, but Miltiades was imprisoned for fourteen -days in his own room in Solon Street, with a soldier mounted guard -outside, for his colonel, with an unheroic disregard for the laws of -honour, judged his act an infringement of military law. - -While Rudolph, with bitterness in his heart and humiliation on -his brow, was speeding back to Cannes and to Photini, Agiropoulos -progressed favourably with his wooing. Half-dead with shame at her -notoriety, poor Andromache asked nothing better than a chance of -getting away for ever from Athens. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -CONTAINS A RELICATION AND A PROMISE. - - -Two men coming by opposite directions down Hermes Street, with their -eyes anywhere but where they ought to have been, stumbled into each -other’s arms, and started back instantly, with aggressive question on -their faces. - -“Well, Constantine,” one cried, eyeing the other furtively and -distrustfully. - -“Well, Stavros,” the other responded, with a corresponding expression. - -“Here’s my hand, Constantine,” Stavros said, after a reflective pause, -and held out his hand with an air of strenuous cordiality. “Touch it. -It’s a loyal hand, and an honest one. I was always your friend, always -liked you.” - -“And so did I,” assented Constantine, as he laid his upon the extended -palm shamefacedly. - -“What! yourself? I never doubted it, my dear fellow.” - -“No, you,” Constantine muttered sulkily. - -“Come, that’s like old times,” roared Stavros, putting an arm through -the unreluctant Selaka’s, and wheeling him round towards Constitution -Square. “It does me good to hear you after our stupid quarrel.” - -“Yes, it was stupid,” Constantine admitted. - -The glorious Miltiades, crossing the square, hailed them with his -full-dress military salute, and hurrying up, shook them boisterously -by the hand and bestowed the clap of patronage upon their backs, while -a humorous twinkle in his handsome eyes betrayed remembrance of their -heroic encounter. - -“The reconciliation of the Inseparables! A sight for the gods. Achilles -and Agamemnon, I am profoundly rejoiced at your good sense.” - -“Friends can shake hands, I suppose, Captain Karapolos, without all -this ado,” sneered Stavros, resentfully. - -“So they can, but I could not resist the temptation to stop and offer -my congratulations. Hoch! Trinken sie wein!” he shouted, proud of his -German, and turned on his heel laughing heartily. - -“The greatest idiot in all Athens,” exclaimed Stavros, scowling after -him. - -The reconciled friends seated themselves at a table, called for coffee, -and began to roll up cigarettes. - -“I’ll tell you a secret, Constantine,” said Stavros, as he leaned -across and spoke in the subdued tone of confidence. “That Oïdas is an -unconscionable blackguard. You always thought it, I know, and you were -right.” - -Selaka, perfectly conscious that he had never imparted any such opinion -of Oïdas to Stavros, blinked uneasily, and took upon himself the air of -full admission. - -“You found him out?” he interrogated, cautiously. - -“I should think so,” Stavros exclaimed, waving his hand -comprehensively. “But there are limits to my endurance. I am going to -throw him over. I have compromised myself by being mixed up with such -a fellow. He has money--and he makes no scruple of his use of it.” - -“You showed a fine tolerance, too, my friend.” - -It still made Constantine sore to reflect that his closest friend had -been bought over by the richer man. - -“No, truly. You are quite in error. It was not the money, but I thought -I could do so much better for my family. You see, Constantine, a man -must hold no private feelings in abeyance when the interests of the -family call upon him to silence them. You cannot have imagined our -quarrel was not a cause of real distress to me. But now we are good -friends, eh?” - -“That depends. Why do you dislike Oïdas?” - -“Oh, for several reasons. He behaved like a villain all round to me, to -you and to your family. I mean to expose him. He promised to make room -for us at the University and to get my son that post I have so long -coveted for him. He has not fulfilled a single obligation he contracted -with me. I had much better have trusted to you. You are not rich, and -the golden mist through which he shines dazzled me. I did not expect -him to come to me direct, and to sue me with soft talk. We all do the -best we can for ourselves, Constantine, and often the best is barren of -result.” - -“Well, I don’t want to be hard on you now that you have come to see -your error. You have thrown him over then?” - -“Quite so. We are quits. Some time my hour of revenge will come--it -always does if patiently waited for, and if you like to join me, it -will be yours too. You don’t imagine, I hope, that I had anything to -do with that wretched article about Inarime in the ‘Aristophanes’? I -abused him for it horribly. He instigated it, you know.” - -“Oïdas! the mighty heavens! His motive, Stavros?” - -“He heard about that Turkish fellow, and Agiropoulos very maliciously -assured him he had no chance. He was wild when he knew it was all round -Athens that he wanted to marry a girl who didn’t want him. He took it -into his head he was flouted and mocked, and he resolved to bespatter -the girl with as much mud as possible.” - -“The villain! the hound!” Constantine muttered, incapable of coherent -speech or thought. - -“She is back in Tenos, I believe?” - -Constantine nodded, with blazing inward-seeing eyes. - -“He is in Athens--buoyed up, I suppose, with hope.” - -“He! Who?” - -“Your romantic Reineke,--a handsome fellow, too?” - -“Where is he staying?” - -“Just opposite,--the Grande Bretagne.” - -Constantine rose with an undefined purpose, and Agiropoulos, lazily -sauntering across the square, nodded and placed an arresting hand on -his shoulder. - -“My dear fellow! How fares it with your island Majesty? Such a comfort -to have a vestige of royalty,--even spurious royalty in our midst, now -that the real thing has temporarily migrated to Denmark.” - -“How do you do, Agiropoulos?” said Stavros, crossly. - -“Ah, my excellent friend Stavros! The fiery principals! How thrilling! -Zeus! that was a bloody encounter! May I implore the soothing charm of -your society--with a cigarette? Athens is so dull. All the interesting -personages of our drama have vanished, and there is not the ghost of a -sensation to rouse us.” - -“Are you not going to be married?” snarled Stavros. - -“Yes, the silken chains of Hymen will shortly weave their spell around -me. The individual sheds his personality upon the gamelian threshold, -and the dual is evolved. Do I transgress the proprieties of speech? -Alas! my poor single and consequently unhappy friends, you must forgive -the metaphysical impetuosities of a contemplating bridegroom.” - -He gracefully extracted a cigarette from a dainty silver case, and -gazed amorously into space. - -“Miss Karapolos is well?” Constantine asked. - -“She is admirably well--and looks it, and your kind inquiry leaves me -your debtor. The virgin blush of health and heroism mantles her brow, -and she is all the better for her little misadventure and the fever, -which fortunately for me, the happy successor, has entirely carried off -the susceptible humours of an earlier fancy.” - -“I am glad to hear it,” Constantine exclaimed, heartily. “It is very -wise of her to marry at once, and shake herself free of the whole -affair. It must be unpleasant for you, however.” - -“Not in the least, my friend. In the interests of the dramatic I am a -willing sufferer; I will go so far as to describe myself a delighted -martyr. I adore the drama, and if there is a thing that wearies me, -it is the thought of monotonous and tame maidenhood. Mademoiselle -Karapolos, in default of a warlike Hector, which a mind more classical -might exact, will next month graciously condescend to accept my name in -the genitive case. Kyria Agiropoulou (Poor girls! it is sad to think -that they are not allowed the privilege of a surname in the nominative -case) is a heroine with a touch of flame and fire in her veins. I have -none myself, and it gratifies me to know that the destructive influence -of two phlegmatic temperaments is happily avoided for my posterity.” - -“Good heavens! Who is that?” cried Constantine, standing, and with -his hand grasped the back of a chair, and stared amazedly at a slowly -advancing carriage. - -Agiropoulos turned round with more haste than his boast of a phlegmatic -temperament warranted, gazed with impertinent and complacent curiosity -through his eye-glass at a carriage bowling gaily down from the -Boulevard d’Amélie, which contained an ostensible Indian prince, dark -but not beautiful, who leaned his head indolently against the shoulder -of a fashionable young Athenian lady, whose mother sat alone with her -back to the horses. - -“Typical of the graceful and amiable abandonment of modern life,” -lisped Agiropoulos. “The prince has diamonds and rupees in abundance. A -little must be conceded such a happy being. If this public concession -succeed in the regular way--the mamma on the front seat and the -gentleman on the back, in her place, with his head negligently pillowed -on the daughter’s shoulder--think of the gain, my friends. Oh, I see -it on your lips, my excellent Constantine, but spare me the Scriptures. -I can stand most things but a biblical quotation. Strange, it is -only then I discover I possess that distressing outcome of modern -life--nerves. What does it matter--the loss of soul against the gain -of the world? I know the quotation. The young lady probably has no -soul--why should she? A soul is the most inconvenient thing I know of, -except perhaps a conscience.” - -“I call it a disgraceful sight. If the prince does not marry her?” -thundered Selaka, indignantly. - -“Which is very likely, my dear fellow. In that case the mamma will -bring her spotted lamb to Paris, or perhaps London, or naughtier -Vienna, and the stain of the royal head will be washed off her shoulder -by less magnificent wedding favours.” - -“You are brutally cynical, Agiropoulos. Thank God, I live on an -innocent island where one never hears such thoughts expressed. -Good-bye, Stavros.” - -“You are indeed an enviable mortal, dropped into this mire out of that -Arcadia. But go, leave the dust and depravity of this much too exciting -town, and return to your shepherds and flocks and peaceful mountain -altitudes. To us, alas! the glitter and distracting noises!” - -“Good-bye for the present, Constantine. I can’t tell you what a relief -it is to be friends with you again.” - -“Stay! one word, I pray your Majesty,” chimed the imperturbable -Agiropoulos. Selaka flung round uneasily, and frowned on him -inquiringly. “Relieve an anxious mind. Is the beautiful nymph of the -hills well?” - -“My niece?” - -“The peerless maid of Tenos! Who else? The modern Helen! Strange -that history should repeat itself. How many Iliums have since been -burnt, albeit it takes by our humble calculations less than ten years -nowadays. That’s the beauty of the calendar. It ties us to dates, and -the newspapers do their best to tie us to hard facts.” - -“They don’t always succeed,” sneered Constantine. - -“There speaks the voice of wisdom--with apologies to our editor. The -‘Aristophanes’ flourishes, I hope? So Helen is well. When does she -settle down to serene wifehood in the house of Menelaus?” - -“Let my niece alone, sir. You are not acquainted with her. The respect -of women is a commendable virtue in young men,” Constantine growled, -turning on his heel. - -Gustav Reineke was writing in his room when Constantine was announced. -He started up, confused and wondering, keeping the hand which held his -pen pressed upon the papers on the table, and looked inquiringly at -Inarime’s uncle. - -“Kyrie Selaka,” he said, and smiled vaguely. - -“We are strangers known to one another by repute,” said Constantine, -who bowed and held out his hand with the singularly gentlemanly ease of -the islander. - -Reineke took his hand and pressed it warmly. Read in the illumination -of his ardent hopes, this visit was a gracious augury which it behoved -him to receive with visible and cordial satisfaction. - -“Be seated, pray,” he said, and the smile that lit up his dark serene -face was as winning as a child’s. - -“I suppose you are astonished to see me, sir.” - -“I am deeply grateful--yes, and a little astonished. You have come, I -suppose, to bring me news of her?” - -“Of--not _from_ her,” Constantine said, prudently. “I am not deputed by -any one, you understand.” - -His brows shot up with secretive purpose, and his eager glance was -full of a meaning it puzzled Reineke to read. He nodded affirmatively, -and the light upon his face sobered to the proper tone of unexpectant -resignation. - -“I am grateful under any circumstances. To hear _of_ her is second -best, and it is not given to man often to get anything so good as -second best,” he said, calmly. - -“You are a philosopher, sir, and philosophy is beyond me. My niece -is well--patient as you might apprehend. But that mad brother of -mine is just an obstinate old idiot. He will hear neither of reason -nor expediency. You had the misfortune to be born a Turk, and it is -your fatality. He has some curious idea that man cannot enter into -strife with fate. He never had much brains for aught but books, and I -have observed that books have a naturally weakening effect upon the -intelligence.” - -Gustav laughed tolerantly, and ostentatiously trifled with his papers. - -“You see I too consume paper and the midnight oil.” - -“I’ve no doubt of it. You’d have shown yourself more sensible in this -affair if you didn’t.” - -“As--for instance?” - -“You’d have carried your case high-handedly, and reduced the maniac -to reason. What are lovers for but to create scenes and bear away the -maiden upon the wings of melodrama?” - -Gustav coloured and bent his eyes upon the table. This was hardly the -sort of man with whom he cared to discuss a matter so very delicate -that speech almost affected it as touch affects the bloom of a peach. - -“Your brother is well?” he merely asked. - -“Pericles! Far from it. He has never rightly recovered from that bad -attack after--after--the time you thrashed that scoundrel Oïdas. You -remember?” - -Gustav reddened darkly, and then paled as suddenly. His eyes took the -deadly brilliance of a panther’s, and he said under his breath: - -“I remember,” closing his teeth upon the memory. - -“I never had an opportunity of thanking you,” Constantine cried, -jumping up and insisting on shaking Reineke’s hands as if they were -pump handles. Gustav gravely endured the operation, but when the -exuberant Greek, in his anxiety to discharge his conscience of arrears -of gratitude, bent his head and bestowed two kisses on his cheeks, -Reineke withdrew a little, and lifted his slow Oriental gaze in mild -reproof. - -“You owe me nothing,” he said, impassively. - -“Nothing!” protested Constantine, noisily, “and the honour of our -family vindicated! A miserable coward punished! By the Olympian gods! -but you are a fellow! How my heart rejoiced! I could have danced!” - -Gustav’s face sharpened in the shadow of lassitude. The unnecessary -violence of Constantine’s mood oppressed and irritated him, but he -simply gazed patient inquiry at him, and meekly awaited the promised -news of Inarime. - -“So you see, Herr Reineke--I suppose I may call you by that more -familiar name?--(Gustav bowed) you have made me your friend in this -matter, and I am resolved you shall have Inarime some day. It will be -so easy, if you once forget that you are a Turk.” - -“It is kind of you--most kind, but I fail to see how you will be able -to accomplish it if Inarime’s father refuses his consent.” - -“But, the chief bar removed, there will be no reason why he should -withhold his consent. We’ll see, we’ll see,” continued the uncle. -“There’s a way out of all difficulties. Pericles will come to his -senses some day. But you are right to respect his prejudices, and so -is she. In the abstract, that is. I would persecute him if it were my -case. But lovers are ticklish creatures to advise or interfere with. -In the meantime, if you will keep me informed of your whereabouts, I -will let you know how matters progress, and will send for you on the -slightest chance of success after acquainting him with your readiness -to become one of us.” - -“You will? Kyrie Selaka, I know not how to thank you. Oh, this is -indeed much--it is much,” Gustav breathed fervently. - -“Not at all. I like you, and I want to see you and my niece happy. -Hope! it is I, Constantine Selaka, who bid you.” - -Reineke paced the room awhile in silence, keenly observed by his -companion, and sat down to stare idly out of the window. Phrases of -Inarime’s letter to Miss Winter recurred to him like buoyant messages. - -“You will be here for some time?” Constantine asked. - -“As long as you like--as long as you bid me hope.” - -“That is well. You are a distinguished personage, Herr Reineke, and it -will not be difficult to find you.” Then in a lighter tone, dismissing -the graver personal matter, he broke into town gossip. - -“I have just met that impertinent young man Agiropoulos. You heard, I -suppose, he is going to marry that little heroine, the Karapolos girl?” - -“How should I? But it is well. A woman is all the better for being -hedged round with the conventionalities of life; and in no case are -they so powerfully protecting as when they chain her by marriage, -when, practically speaking, she ceases to be a responsible agent,” -Reineke said, and added as an afterthought, to exclude Inarime from the -slightly contemptuous classification, “that is, the average woman, that -unexplained engine of impulse and unreason.” - -“Poor little creature! She was hard hit. I wonder what has become of -her recreant lover.” - -“Young Ehrenstein?” - -“Yes. He levanted, you know, with that piano-playing woman, the -Natzelhuber.” - -“I met them in Paris a month ago.” - -“You did? And they are still living together?” - -“Most wretchedly. I cannot understand a man choosing degradation -and misery because the particular happiness he sets his heart on -is beyond his grasp. Women! Yes. If they can’t have the best, they -plunge themselves into the worst. They are in extremes of goodness and -badness, and scorn half-measures. I daresay poor young Ehrenstein finds -a woman’s satisfaction in contrasting his present with the future that -might have been.” - -“Quite a boy! Miserable, you say. Did you speak to him?” - -“No. He was with Mademoiselle Natzelhuber. I would have stopped, but -he glowered on me so forbiddingly that perforce I had to pass on in -silence and without bowing. Doubtless he read commiseration in my -glance, and resented it. They had been quarrelling, and each seemed an -unloved burden to the other.” - -“And you heard nothing?” - -“I met Mademoiselle Natzelhuber afterwards in a fashionable salon. -She had been drawn out of her tub, by what means I know not, and with -Diogenes’ contempt, consented to play. The soul of despair and unrest -was in her fingers. It was the saddest music I ever heard. I spoke to -her of Rudolph, and she implored me to take him off her hands. She said -he bored her, and the sight of him filled her with inexplicable anger. -I got their address, and when I called, she received me, and threatened -to tear me to pieces if I sought to interfere between them. As I walked -away, I glanced up at the window, and saw Ehrenstein looking down -listlessly upon me. His face was the face of a lost soul.” - -Gustav’s voice dropped to a whisper. Constantine sat thrumming the -table with his fingers, and jerked his head up and down disconsolately. - -“It is an awful story,” he said. - -“It has burnt a hateful picture on my mind. I remember the day I first -saw that boy on the Acropolis--a mere innocent, unhappy boy. Now he -drowns his misery in brandy and shuns his equals. I heard at a club -that he plays heavily and is steeped in vice.” - -“The Lord succour him! He was a child when he came to Athens. As for -that wretched woman who has brought him to this----” - -“She did not. We are needlessly hard on women. He walked into the pit -with his eyes open, and she was simply an instrument of his own choice. -If she had not been there, he would have found other means,” said -Gustav. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -SELAKA’S LAST WORD. - - -Winter had lashed the Eastern world with sharp frenzy, and now early -spring was raging over the plain of Attica, driving madly in a -whirlwind of dust down from the encircling hills, with its breath of -ice and its shrewish roar. And soon it would be at its verge, and stand -on tiptoe with wistful glance set upon the hurrying summer that so soon -would consume its flowers and grasses and chattering rills. - -Still Gustav lingered at Athens studying archæology and patiently -waiting for Constantine’s message of hope. Exploring expeditions helped -him through the long leisure. The last proposed by Miss Winters was -to Vari, to do homage to the mythical Cave of Pan, where Plato was -dedicated to Apollo and the Muses. - -Gustav drove round from his hotel at seven o’clock in the morning -to pick up Miss Winters and her paraphernalia, at her lodgings in -front of the Columns of Jupiter. Upon the mountains, hue upon hue lay -intermelted in one transfused whole of indescribable loveliness. The -great forked flanks of Hymettus looked so desolate against the joy -of the sky, as to suggest that here had Prometheus been chained and -had stamped it with the legacy of permanent sadness. Under the hills -stretched on either side wide fields sheeted with blood-red poppies; -the birds woke the air with song, and the air was full of the lovely -scent of the pine. Gustav’s senses thrilled to the exquisite charm of -the hour, and Miss Winters’ gaze was a prayer and a thanksgiving. - -When they had devoutly visited the shrine, difficult of access, and -had come back into the pine region, flushed and tired and heated by -the blaze of sunfire, they were accommodated by a courteous villager -with an empty room, into which a table newly-washed and two chairs -were introduced as additional helps to lunch. The villager supplied -them with boiled eggs, water and bread, which was being baked at the -general oven in the middle of the place, and Gustav produced a bottle -of Santorin wine, some fruit and cold chicken. For a forlorn lover he -ate a very hearty meal, and took an animated pleasure in supplying the -absence of attendance. - -After lunch they went and sat on a little wooden seat, and while Gustav -smoked, Miss Winters, to the complete astonishment of these simple -folk, fed all the dogs of the place upon bread and chicken just as if -they had been Christians. Greek dogs are never fed, they pick up what -they can here and there, and shrink instinctively from man, whose only -caress is a kick. - -“That old man is very ill,” Miss Winters said at length. - -“Which old man?” - -“That old heathen of Tenos, of course.” - -“Oh! Selaka!” - -“Yes. I met his brother yesterday. He was attending somebody in the -house, and I asked to see him.” - -“Truly, you are a marvellous woman, and a most excellent friend,” said -Gustav. - -“I reckon I can seize an opportunity, and don’t fail for the want of -pluck and keeping my eyes open. The brother is a doctor.” - -“I know. Constantine. They call him the King of Tenos.” - -“Tenos seems to be the home of idiots. Well, the pagan is very -ill--heart-disease--doomed. The doctor is on your side, and says if you -will go to Tenos, in about ten days he will be there to meet you, and -thinks it not improbable that the old lunatic may be talked into reason -before he goes to--Hades or elsewhere.” - -Reineke reddened slightly and breathed hard, but he said nothing. The -mere hope meant too much for speech. To touch again land so sacred as -her island home, to look upon the fastnesses which enshielded her from -the world--to see her, feel her, hear her, divine her nearness by every -acute sense quickened to an ache. Perhaps---- - -Thought could go no farther. He rose and flung away his cigarette with -a passionate gesture, and began to pace the dusty path while the driver -got the horses ready for their return. He seemed to see Inarime’s face, -not the landscape, and his heart throbbed with the wonder of it. He was -silent during the drive home, and sat till far into the night on his -balcony, watching the stars come out in the soft blue gloom and wink -and play like illuminated shuttles upon their glossy background. - -Ten days later he came to say good-bye to his friend. The charming -old lady stood in front of him, and peered into his face with kindly -question. A soft smile stirred the grave depths of his dark intense -eyes as he gave her back her look, and tenderly lifted her hand to his -lips. - -“No matter what happens, our friendship must be lifelong,” he said. - -“Yes, I mean to fall frantically in love with your wife. You will bring -her right along to Washington City to see me, and I’ll have my book on -Greece ready, to present you with a copy on your marriage.” She raised -herself on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. - -“Now go straight away to Tenos, and I guess you’ll carry the day,” she -added. - -It was not Aristides who met him this time upon the little quay of St. -Nicholas, but insular majesty itself. - -“The King of Tenos,” said Gustav, smiling as he shook hands with -Constantine. - -“The slave of Tenos--the devil take the lot,” cried Dr. Selaka, -angrily. “I haven’t a moment to myself once I land on this wretched -island. Because they make me deputy, I must look after all their -ailments gratis; I must stand godfather for all their children, which -means presents illimitable and care for the rest of my days; I must -lend my house for marriages, and give marriage breakfasts to all the -daughters--dowries sometimes, and last, but not least, I must submit -to be carried about the island, up those massacring mountain paths and -down destructive precipices, while the idiots fire off pistols and -guns in the exuberance of their spirits, until I am smothered with -smoke and half-dead with fright.” - -“I see there are drawbacks to the glory of a seat in the Boulé.” - -“I rather think so. Oh! the monsters! I am compelled to sneak down all -the back lanes to escape them. Come this way. Our mules are hidden -under yonder filthy archway.” - -How familiar the ride seemed to Gustav, although he had only twice -ridden through this strange scenery. He recognised every field and -hedge, each cleft in the mountains, the cave of Aiolos, and the little -forsaken fountain with the figures of St. Michael, St. George and the -Virgin Mary roughly carven upon a marble slab by some unknown hand in -the seventeenth century. A thin vein of water flowed from the torrent -above into the fountain with a tinkling sound that broke the silence -very sadly. How desolate in the stillness looked the interminable lines -of marble hills stained with burnt thyme and furze, the great jagged -rocks tinted with gold and red and purple and grey, forked against the -sapphire sky, and the dim grey glades of olives below! Desertion lay -upon all, and the beauty was the beauty of neglect and barrenness. -And above towered the Castro, slanting down from the upper world, -greyer, sterner than ever, with the rocky desert of Bolax behind, and -the villages afar, so white and tiny, tangled upon the slopes, curve -flowing after curve to the horizon, the cornfields and meadows touching -the scene to life, and the sea breaking into the wide green plain of -Kolymvithra like a lake. Here and there a forgotten faded lemon showed -through the orchards, and the geraniums were as drops of blood upon the -leaves. How dear and homelike, how personal it all appeared to him! -Inarime it spoke of. No sound came to him but the clamour of the frogs -among the moist reeds of the torrent-beds, or the liquid flow of bird -music from the trees, broken by occasional farm cries and the bark of -watch dogs. - -Pericles Selaka knew that his days were numbered. He was filled with -the trouble and indecision of his daughter’s future. But the thought of -relenting towards Gustav--Daoud Bey, as he now bitterly called him--did -not enter his mind. His anger against Gustav was the more unreasonable -and fierce because of his affection and admiration for the man. What -right had a scholar and a gentleman to prove nothing better than a -miserable Turk? Inarime grieved for the fellow. Of course. And did he -not grieve for her grief? Were there not moments of yearning to throw -off this intolerable cloak of resolution, and send for Gustav to make -his daughter happy? Had she not a right to happiness? She was young and -beautiful. The thought of such beauty as hers dropping unwedded into -the grave exasperated him. But a renegade Turk! - -The day of Gustav’s arrival, Selaka was alone in the sitting-room. -Inarime had gone to the fountain for Annunziata, who was busy preparing -the midday breakfast. By an unaccountable impulse, Selaka’s thoughts -flew back to his short married life, and, standing upon the threshold -of memory, struck him with the force of reality. Tears shook upon -his eyelids, and suddenly he raised his head with a listening air. -A delicate breeze seemed to sweep past him, and played about his -forehead and hair like caressing fingers. Then it came back again and -approached him like a soft regretful sigh. He rose, impelled by an -influence which he felt it a pleasure to obey, and followed the sighing -breeze. The blinds were drawn to keep out the glare of the noonday sun, -and a ray from a chink broke into the twilight in a dazzling river of -gold. The air just lifted the blind, and breathed again about his face, -this time lingering like a kiss upon his lips; a rose-leaf kiss, that -very tender lips might give. He staggered against the framework of the -window, filled with a superstitious dread. Was this breath the soul of -his dead wife that floated about him with speechless message? Might -it not be that she was filled with concern for the coming solitude -of her forsaken child? Strive as he might against the insane idea, -it grew upon him, and took possession of his frighted senses. A damp -perspiration broke upon his brow, the pallor of terror was on his -cheek, and his heart beat against his side with suffocating blows. - -Hardly knowing why, he held back the blind, and looked down into -the courtyard to see if any wind stirred among the flowers. All was -still. Not a leaf trembled; the flowers drooped in the drowsy heat of -a sultry summer day. He opened the window, and put out his hand. The -air was hot and motionless, and the watch-dog lay panting in the shade -of a palmtree. He closed the window, drew down the blind, and looked -through the soft gloom of the apartment. This time he shivered as the -whispering breath struck him full in the face, like a wing brushing -past. He stretched out his hands with a cry of protest and alarm, and -fell upon the floor in a swoon, with the name of his dead wife upon -his lips. - -When Selaka opened his eyes, he found himself lying on the sofa, and -saw the face of Gustav Reineke bent over his anxiously. He stared in -awed amazement, shrank back a little, put up one hand and timidly -touched the young man as if to test his reality. - -“You are better, sir?” asked Reineke, taking the hand, and he held it -in a warm, protective clasp. - -“You! Daoud Bey,” muttered Selaka, indistinctly. - -“Look on me as Gustav Reineke, I beg you, sir, and my presence will -hurt you less. The past is no more for me; have I not promised?” said -Gustav, gently. - -“I am conquered, Gustav. I give her to you.” - -Gustav gasped, and instinctively dropped on his knees beside the sofa. -He hid his face on the pillow, and burst into uncontrollable tears. -The sick man lay still, and watched him in a state of stupid fatigue -and torpor. Somebody entered the room, and crossing, touched Gustav’s -shoulder. He sprang to his feet, and met the serene brown glance of -Annunziata’s eyes. - -“You are welcome, sir, you are very welcome,” she said, and held out -both hands, nodding with subdued approval. - -Gustav took them, and shook them with a force that almost hurt. Yet he -wore the look of a man in a trance. - -“You are a good, kind woman. Tell me where she is.” - -“She is detained in the village. Go into the garden, and I will send -her uncle to fetch her.” - -Gustav obeyed her, and passed out into the garden. How changed -everything was since his winter visit, eighteen months before. But -he hardly noted whither he went as he precipitated himself down the -oleander alley. The air quivered with light. The smell of the pines and -thyme floated up from the valley upon the summer wind that just stirred -the laurel leaves and plumes of the reeds in the torrent below. All -abroad sleepy delight, and within an immeasurable joy that touched on -anguish! He stood on the gravel path edged with blue and white irises, -and looked down upon the little goat road behind the zigzag of spiked -cactuses. The shadow of the kids, as they played, wavered upon the -silver light that sparkled and shook in liquid masses from the upper -rocks. - -Would she come by that path? The eternal sunshine and the aching mist -of blue dazzled him as did his own overpowering happiness. The rapture -of the birds was a fit interpretation of his own rapture, and the -lizards, darting in and out of the rocks like shuttles quick with life, -were as his beating pulses. He loved everything, the water and flowers, -the quaint and tiny insects that flew around him, and the pigeons that -flashed through the air with an impetuosity he longed to rival. - -A step behind him drained the blood from his heart, and he turned, sick -and frightened with the strength of passion. - -Inarime was looking at him with equal fear and awe. Slowly and silently -their glances drew one another until their hands met, but speech was -beyond them. They did not speak at once nor embrace, but remained thus -standing and gazing, and then a flame sprang into Gustav’s intense -look, and spread like fire over his face. - -“Inarime!” he murmured, and opened his arms. - -She was in them enfolded, and their lips were one. - -“Oh, Gustav, you have come to me,” cried Inarime. - -“At last! At long last! Did it seem long to you, dearest?” - -“Long! I tried so hard to do without you, but it grew harder each day. -But you are with me now, dear one.” - -“Not again to leave you, Inarime. My own, how best shall I serve you? -How shall I treat you? It is as if a mortal were mated with a goddess.” - -“You, too, O love, are to me as a god,” whispered Inarime. - -“Nay, nay, beloved, you must not so exalt your worshipper,” protested -Gustav, laughing, while he drew her to a stone and gently forced her to -sit down, that he might kneel before her, and hold her clasped. - -He looked up at her in mute adoration, and smiled. She framed his -dusky, glowing face with her hands, and her own, bent over it, looked -glorious in its joy. - -“Dearest,” he cried, “bliss cannot madden or kill, or I should not now -be kneeling here, alive and sane.” - -“Oh, Gustav, life is so short. No wonder lovers must have their -hereafter. We may not reach an end.” - -“Nay, sweet, our life shall not be short; while others merely exist, we -shall live our days to the very full. Think of it--a future with each -other. Here, hereafter! It cannot be for us other than Paradise.” - -“I love you, Gustav.” - -“Goddess, I adore you.” - -She pressed her cheek against his, and he felt her happy tears. - -“My father will need me--us,” she said. “Come.” - -They found Selaka waiting eagerly for them. Inarime had not seen him -since his seizure, and ran to him with a cry of pain, shocked to see -him look so ill. - -“My son,” said Selaka, with laboured breath, “I would ask you much, -since I have given you so much.” - -“There is nothing, sir, you can ask that I will not gladly grant,” said -Gustav, taking his hand. - -“I would charge you with my dying breath not to resume your hateful -name. It would sting me in the grave if my daughter bore it.” - -“It shall be as you wish, sir. Inarime will be the wife of Gustav -Reineke, and Daoud Bey is no more.” - -The old man winced under the name, but feebly pressed Gustav’s hand. -Shaken with terror and regret for her own great bliss, Inarime knelt -beside the sofa, and looked beseechingly at her father. - -“I have one other request to make to you, my children. You have been -kept apart long enough. I do not desire that my death should impose -a longer separation upon you. If you must mourn me--though I do not -desire that either--let it be together. Let not the grave overshadow -your wedding joys. Think of me, not as dead but as a disembodied spirit -that will hover around and about you in tender concern, sharing your -griefs, which it is my prayer may be few, and your delights, which -I hope will be many. Weep not for me, Inarime. Death is but a quiet -sleep, the grave but rest. You will have your husband. He will be all -to you--more even than I. Promise me, my beloved child, that you will -not grieve, and that there will be no delay in your marriage.” - -Inarime crept closer to her father, and twined her arms round his neck. - -“There, there, my girl. Gustav, you will be very tender to her.” - -“Oh, sir, my life henceforth will be devotion to her.” - -“Thank you, thank you. I feel it will be so. Take her now; comfort -her, and dry her tears. That is well. The arms that hold her now are -stronger than mine, the breast that pillows her head will henceforth be -its best protection. And should a son be born to you, my children, call -him Pericles after me, and bring him up to love greatly the great past -of my country. Come nearer, my sight grows dim. Call Annunziata, and my -brother. I would bid them farewell. You, Inarime, stay close to me. It -is with your dear hand in mine that I would go hence into the unknown.” - -Constantine and Annunziata were waiting outside. But when they followed -Gustav into the dying man’s presence, Selaka had fallen into a doze. No -word was spoken. Annunziata wept silently: Constantine’s sobs were the -only sound; Inarime knelt watching her father’s face, and Gustav stood -over her with his arm about her neck. Selaka’s eyes opened, and flashed -with a ray of youth. He uttered his wife’s name in a loud, clear voice, -and then the light of life was extinguished. - -Gustav bent and kissed Inarime. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -CONCLUSION. - - -Time, summer afternoon, touching sunset, early in the month of -June.--Scene, the beach of Phalerum. - -The band is playing a lively selection from Lecocq, whose works are -delighting the Athenians, interpreted by a third-rate French company -three times a week at the Olympian Theatre of Athens, and three times -nightly at the theatre of the Piræus. All the seats outside the Grand -Hotel are filled, as are those edging the golden strand where the -children are digging and making sand-pies--quantities of babies, -dressed in French taste, in English taste, and overdressed whatever the -taste, and quarrelling and making-up in a variety of tongues. - -Every table shows a display of coffee cups, of liqueur glasses and of -empty ice plates. The Athenian gilded youth walk up and down, twirling -slim canes; with shorn heads, wide-brimmed hats, white trousers, and -moustaches turned up with emphasis. Droll youths with a serious belief -in their own fascinations, made up, some of them imprisoned in corsets. -Such boots and trousers, such coats and moustaches! Ah! misfortune to -the susceptible maidens of Athens! Their hour is surely come with these -lions abroad. - -And the young ladies! Such chatter and beaming smiles, such hats, -high heels, ribbons, laces, veils, powder and perfume! Such miracles -of millinery produced without any regard to cost! Ah, there are two -sides to the picture, my friends, and is it quite so certain that -the lions facing these nymphs will have the best of the encounter? -There are enough uniforms here to convince the sceptical traveller -that he is in a land of heroes. Infantry officers of every rank, in -light blue. Numbers of artillerymen in black with crimson velveteen -collar and cuffs. Yes, there yonder is the glorious Miltiades, linked -with that Phœbus Apollo, Hadji Adam. How the heart gladdens at the -sight, how the nerves shake at the clanking of that terrible sabre -of his, at the rattle of his glittering spurs, and with what cordial -delight do we recognise his military salute and meet the condescension -of his hand-clasp! One singles out the pair instinctively, amid -the multiplicity of uniforms, above the rank and file of mere -marine officers and saucy midshipmen. For, be it known to benighted -foreigners, all male Athens dons a uniform, military or naval. Either -politics or the uniform nothing else counts. Epaulettes or the Bouléor -_le néant_. - -And the band is playing--is playing with a desperate fervour, befitting -noisy, volatile Athens. The waiters are rushing wildly about with trays -of cognac and vermouth, of ices and coffee, the fragrance of Greek -tobacco fills the air, the chatter of human voices and the shrill cry -of excited children mingle with the soft murmur of the sea, that beats -so gently upon the sand. A charming hour, a charming scene. The sky -as blue as the lucid waters beneath; shifting hues wavering upon the -sharp mountain sides; the early lights flickering against the trees, -and the sound of happy laughter and speech heard above the band! - -The blessed, foolish, frivolous people, self-intoxicated, needing -nothing but its daily gossip, its leaflets called newspapers, coffee -and cigarettes, the excitement of the half-hourly trains to Phalerum of -a summer evening, the rascalities of its politicians to denounce, along -with the nameless Turk and the faithless Mr. Gladstone, to the strains -of its bad, vivacious music! - -With regret do I ask the reader to stand with me under the shade of the -Grand Hotel, and cast a farewell glance upon the scene. By the last -train from town old acquaintances arrive--a young pair on their wedding -tour. Three years ago we last saw one of them facing the hero of Greece -at an uncomfortable hour of the morning upon uncomfortable business. -Now he is the husband--of whom? Of whom but that elegant young lady of -the great world, Mademoiselle Eméraude Veritassi. They were married -at Rome, where the Baron von Hohenfels is Austrian plenipotentiary, -with Rudolph for one of his _attachés_. The bride and bridegroom have -taken Athens on their way to St. Petersburg, to which Embassy Rudolph -now belongs. Ehrenstein looks what he is--an aristocrat in faultless -attire, who has lived hard and enjoys the reputation of a strong -attachment to brandy and music. Pale, thin, stern and fastidious, with -an air of quiescent wretchedness. Poor Rudolph! Is this all that his -mutable affections have brought him--indifference and hopelessness? -Photini had died, and he had mourned her passionately, not her, -perhaps, but his blighted youth. And when he found Mademoiselle -Veritassi disposed to overlook his shady past for the sake of his -expectations, his wealth, and his fair, handsome face, it did not seem -to him he could do very much better than marry her. - -They walked the beach once, and then returned, and seated themselves a -little above the Grand Hotel, Ehrenstein gloomily facing the sea while -he waited for his cognac; and his bride, in Worth’s latest splendours, -looking landwards, expecting an ice. - -“See, Rudolph, here is my old flame, M. Michaelopoulos, the great -poet,” cried Eméraude, pleasantly excited. - -“Indeed,” said Rudolph, stroking his moustache and indolently shifting -his eyes. - -“Good heavens! Mademoiselle Veritassi! I forgot, a thousand excuses, -Madame Ehrenstein,” exclaimed the popular poet. - -“My dear friend! Sit down and tell us all the news. Rudolph, order some -cognac for M. Michaelopoulos. And now, do tell me everything. What was -said about my marriage?” - -“Athens rejoiced that Austria in you, Madame, should so wisely have -chosen,” said the poet, with a magnificent bow. - -“No, truly? You mock me, sir. Does Austria, I wonder, think that -Greece chose as wisely?” asked the vivacious bride with an arch, -half-malicious glance at her morose husband. - -“Could Austria think otherwise?” the poet replied. - -“If such a humble person as myself may answer for Austria, I may -say that no better choice could have been made,” said Rudolph, -sarcastically. - -“My friend, I mean to prove the wisdom of my choice.” - -Rudolph raised his eyebrows in lazy interrogation. - -“At the present you are simply an _attaché_,” explained his wife. “With -my good help you will become an ambassador. That was why I married you. -I always thought the position of ambassadress would suit me admirably.” - -“So! You flatter me, Madame.” - -“Why not? You surely did not think I was in love with you.” - -“Well, I own I had some faint hope you returned my adoration.” - -Eméraude glanced quickly at her husband, and smiled, a strange, hard -little smile. Lying back with half-shut eyes, she said to the poet: - -“It is evident that my husband is on his wedding tour, judging by the -pretty things he says.” - -“I shall doubtless reach perfection in that art under your amiable -tuition,” retorted the bridegroom, as he turned to inspect the crowd. - -“They certainly don’t give the unblest any reason to envy their -happiness,” mused the poet. “Who would have thought that such a gentle, -girlish boy would turn into a bitter and cynical rake?” - -Some friends of Eméraude bore down upon her, and after a torrent of -congratulation, haughtily received by Rudolph, the latter rose and -took the poet’s arm. They walked past the hotel, and a dark flush -spread like a flame over Rudolph’s face when he recognised the gallant -Captain of the Artillery. - -“The sister is here, too,” said the poet, not troubled with any -hesitation or sensitiveness to the delicacy of the subject. - -“Indeed,” said Rudolph, very softly. - -He did not resent the liberty; he felt an aching desire to hear -something of her--hear that she was well and happy. - -“She is married,” he said. - -“Yes, and grown so stout. There’s a baby with them. There they are.” - -Rudolph started, and the hand on the poet’s arm trembled violently. - -Agiropoulos and Andromache were coming towards him. Agiropoulos was on -the side of the sea, fat, contented, floridly attired, with a flower -in his buttonhole and a gold-rimmed glass in his eye. The departing -sunshine shone from the west full upon Andromache’s face. It had lost -all the pretty appeal of youth. A handsome enough profile, dull, -well-filled, with dark blue eyes looking out of a forest of curled -fringe, upon which a much too fashionable bonnet reposed. Rudolph was -startled and disappointed to find his old love the mere expression -of commonplace, domestic content. Yes, she looked as if she did not -greatly mourn him, and remembering his wife’s elegance and social -charm, he recognised he had done better than marry Andromache. But good -heavens! how pretty and sweet she had been in those old days when his -heart was so fresh and his days so innocent! He saw again the little -salon overlooking the Gardens of the French School, with all its -trivial details accurately fixed upon his memory, and two foolish young -creatures so desperately afraid of each other, when first confronted -with a love scene. What a charming idyll! and how evanescent and -unseizable its fragrance floated out of the past! - -Andromache was the first to see him. She did not start, but turned -pale to the lips, and looked at him steadily while her fingers closed -convulsively upon her red parasol. Agiropoulos brought his quick, sharp -gaze to bear upon Ehrenstein, who at once lifted his hat. But his -salute was not returned by husband or wife, Andromache stared straight -before her, and Agiropoulos smiled insolently as he passed. - -Rudolph gazed across the sea with twitching lips. The cut hurt him more -than he dared allow to himself. He was gentleman enough to feel ashamed -that he deserved it, but was unaccountably angry with Andromache for -not having learned to forgive him. - -“Let us go back to Madame,” he said, quietly. - -“Have you had enough of Phalerum, Eméraude?” he asked, in reply to the -silent question of his wife’s look. - -“You discontented fellow! We have only just come.” - -“And how long are we to remain?” - -“There, I see you are upset, and, as I can’t expect to make you an -ambassador if I don’t humour you a little, I’ll take you back to Athens -at once,” said Eméraude, rising good-naturedly. - -Rudolph flashed her a look of boyish gratitude, and pressed her hand -as he helped her into the train. He was a little boisterous and -intractable on his way to town, laughed and talked wildly and, when -they got into a carriage at Athens to drive to the Hôtel de la Grande -Bretagne, a reaction came, and he sat back, the picture of moody -discontent. Verily, Mademoiselle Veritassi has not chosen an easy life, -but we can see that she understands her task, and that, in spite of -ill-tempers and storms, the whip-hand will be hers. - -Turning the corner of Hermes Street, Rudolph’s unhappy glance fell -upon another picture, and one that struck a heavier blow upon his -bruised heart. Two persons on a balcony of the Hôtel d’Angleterre, -which faces Constitution Square, opposite the Palace, were enjoying -the sunset, and the soft, departing daylight. A man was leaning with -his back to the railing, smoking and looking down upon a seated woman -in front of him. Rudolph’s pulses stood still. It was impossible not -to recognise the owner of the supple brown hand that grasped the edge -of the railing, and upon a slight movement of the smoker, who seemed -to be speaking with playful earnestness to his companion, Rudolph saw -Reineke’s delicate, clear profile. A hungry pain sprang into Rudolph’s -eyes as he sat forward, and looked back through the railings, while the -carriage drove across the Square. He saw Inarime distinctly, with her -eyes lifted to her husband, and a happy smile stirring her grave lips. -And as he watched, Reineke went over and sat beside her. - -The carriage stopped in front of the Hôtel de la Grande Bretagne, -and Rudolph helped his wife out. Instead of following her in, he -hurried down the path to stare again at the rival hotel. Inarime now -was standing with her hand upon Gustav’s shoulder, and the spectator -might divine that the husband was protesting laughingly against some -decision of hers. Then with her tender, grave smile she passed from him -and went inside. Gustav remained seated on the balcony, smoking. - -“They are not contented--they are happy,” said Rudolph, as he turned to -join his wife. “Nobody is miserable but myself. Photini is dead, and -I’m alive. I don’t know that it is I who have the best of it, either. -She was right. She told me from the first I never should be happy. -Andromache! Inarime! and poor Photini! I wonder why I have missed the -gladness of life. It seems to exist, and some people catch it. I am -only twenty-five. Heaven help me, what shall I be ten years hence, when -I feel so bitter on my wedding tour?” - -He knocked at his wife’s door, and entering, threw himself on a sofa. - -“How long do you propose staying in this wretched hole?” he asked. - -“A week or so,” said his wife, surprised. “Why?” - -“I want to know what I am expected to do with myself.” - -“Look after me, of course, and dance attendance on me,” laughed his -wife. - - -THE END. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAUGHTERS OF MEN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Daughters of Men</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Hannah Lynch</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 17, 2021 [eBook #65098]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAUGHTERS OF MEN ***</div> - -<div class="mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber’s Note:<br /> -A Table of Contents has been added.<br /><br /><br />Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="front cover" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<h1>DAUGHTERS OF MEN</h1> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">DAUGHTERS OF MEN</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2">HANNAH LYNCH</p> - -<p class="bold">AUTHOR OF<br />“TROUBLED WATERS,” ETC.</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">NEW YORK<br /><br />JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY<br /><br />150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1892</span>,<br />BY<br />UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY<br /> -———<br />[<i>All rights reserved.</i>]</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> - -<h2>TO DEMETRIOS BIKELAS.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Friend</span>,</p> - -<p>Of your kindly interpretation of the laughter here and there in this -volume, purporting to be a picture of modern Greek life, I have no -doubt. You at least know that I lack neither friendship nor sympathy -with your race. We like not the less those whom we laugh at, provided -our laughter is not meant to wound. For are not our own absurdities and -weaknesses mirrored in those of others?</p> - -<p>My more serious preoccupation is the accuracy of my judgment and -observation. For any errors on this ground I claim your indulgence. The -foreign observer is proverbially impertinent and inaccurate, as we in -Ireland have sad reason to know. We do not lack our Abouts, though it -may be doubted if we accept them in a spirit so generous as you do.</p> - -<p>In placing your name before my story, I may be said to hoist the -colours of Greece, and under them dare sail my little bark of Greek -passengers without any fear of coming to grief upon Hellenic shores, -should I have the honour to penetrate so far.</p> - -<p class="right">H. L.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CONTENTS</span></h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="left"><span class="smaller">CHAPTER</span></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I. </td> - <td class="left">AT THE AUSTRIAN EMBASSY.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II. </td> - <td class="left">THE BARON VON HOHENFELS EXPRESSES AN OPINION.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III. </td> - <td class="left">FAREWELL TO YOU!—TO YOU GOOD CHEER!</td> - <td><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV. </td> - <td class="left">AN ATHENIAN HOUSEHOLD.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V. </td> - <td class="left">HOW GUSTAV REINEKE MISSED MADAME JAROVISKY’S BALL.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI. </td> - <td class="left">A FIGHT IN THE CAMP OF HELLAS.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII. </td> - <td class="left">PHOTINI NATZELHUBER.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VIII. </td> - <td class="left">THE RESULT OF THE BARON’S ADVICE.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IX. </td> - <td class="left">MADAME JAROVISKY’S BALL.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>X. </td> - <td class="left">A RANDOM SHOT.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XI. </td> - <td class="left">TENOS.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XII. </td> - <td class="left">INARIME.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XIII. </td> - <td class="left">REINEKE’S ARRIVAL AT XINARA.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XIV. </td> - <td class="left">MUTE ELOQUENCE.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XV. </td> - <td class="left">A SILENT BETROTHAL.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XVI. </td> - <td class="left">A REVELATION.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XVII. </td> - <td class="left">PARTED LOVERS.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">BOOK III.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XVIII. </td> - <td class="left">RUDOLPH AND ANDROMACHE.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XIX. </td> - <td class="left">A CRUEL UNCLE.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XX. </td> - <td class="left">AT THE THEATRE.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXI. </td> - <td class="left">A CHORUS OF ATHENIAN MAIDENS.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXII. </td> - <td class="left">FORESHADOWING A CRISIS IN RUDOLPH’S CAREER.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXIII. </td> - <td class="left">A MEETING ON THE ACROPOLIS.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXIV. </td> - <td class="left">A DRAUGHT FROM CIRCE’S CUP.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXV. </td> - <td class="left">AGAMEMNON AND IPHIGENIA.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXVI. </td> - <td class="left">HOW ATHENS TOOK THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PERFIDIOUS RUDOLPH.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_296">296</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">BOOK IV.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_305">305</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXVII. </td> - <td class="left">INARIME’S VIGIL.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_305">305</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXVIII. </td> - <td class="left">SHOWING A LADY KNIGHT-ERRANT TO THE RESCUE OF UNHAPPY LOVERS.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXIX. </td> - <td class="left">HOW A MAID OF ATHENS AVENGED HERSELF.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_327">327</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXX. </td> - <td class="left">CONTAINS A RELICATION AND A PROMISE.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_346">346</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXXI. </td> - <td class="left">SELAKA’S LAST WORD.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_360">360</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXXII. </td> - <td class="left">CONCLUSION.</td> - <td><a href="#Page_372">372</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">DAUGHTERS OF MEN.</p> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I.</span> <span class="smaller">AT THE AUSTRIAN EMBASSY.</span></h2> - -<p>The Austrian embassy at Athens was more largely and more brilliantly -attended than usual. At nine o’clock the Patissia Road showed a -line of carriages going backward towards the Platea Omonia from the -gaily-lighted embassy. All the foreign ministers were there, as -well as the Prime Minister of Greece, and whatever distinguished -travellers Athens had the honour of entertaining at that time,—it -being winter, there was a goodly number. A Russian Prince or two, -presented by the Russian minister; two eminent English politicians on -their way to Constantinople for a confidential exchange of views with -the Sublime Sultan, to be remembered by jewelled snuff-boxes or some -such trifles; a sprightly French mathematician straight from Paris -the Blest; a half-dozen of celebrated archæologists, furnished by -Europe and the United States, all viewing each other with more or less -malevolence and suspicion—the Frenchman noticeably not on speaking -terms with his distinguished brother from Germany; Dr. Jarovisky of -world renown, fresh from Pergamos<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> and recent discoveries at Argos, -speaking various languages as badly as possible; a genial and witty -Irish professor rushing through Greece with the intention of writing -an exhaustive analysis of the country and the people, in that spirit -of amiable impertinence so characteristic of hasty travellers. There -was the flower of the so-called Greek aristocracy: Phanariote Princes, -Græco-Italian Counts from Zante and Corfu, and retired merchants and -speculators from Constantinople and Smyrna and London. There was -a Greek poet, hardly distinguishable in accent and manner from a -Parisian, except in a detail of appearance which gave him the head -of a convict, so hideously do the Hellenes shave their heads to look -as if they wore mouse-coloured skull caps; a prose translator of -Shakespeare, who had lately visited the Immortal’s shrine at Warwick, -and, in the interests of local colouring modelled himself since his -return as closely as possible upon the accepted type of the English man -of letters, and surveyed the frivolities under his eye with a British -impassivity and glacial neutrality of gaze. All the musical dilettanti -of the city of the Wise Maid were there, and all its presentable -women. Some of the girls were pretty, and all were thickly powdered -and richly dressed; all had large, brilliant dark eyes. And the gowns -and frocks from Paris, the jewels, lace, aigrettes, flowers, and bare -arms and shoulders made an effective and troublous contrast with the -preponderance of masculine evening attire and semi-official splendour.</p> - -<p>This large and distinguished gathering had been convened in honour of -the return to her native city of Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhuber, a -celebrated pianiste,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> the rival and friend of Rubinstein, the pupil -of Liszt and not greatly inferior to her master, who, at Vienna, had -been publicly named by him Queen of Pianists to match his recognised -kingliness. All Athens was on tiptoe of expectation, eager to hear her, -and still more eager to see her. It is not known, but extravagantly -conjectured, with what sum the Baroness von Hohenfels was able to bid -over the heads of her rival salonists and procure the honour of the -Natzelhuber’s first appearance in Athens. Sane and discerning persons -were probably right in putting it down to francs represented by four -figures, for Austrian baronesses have a pretty accurate knowledge of -the value of money. But for the moment six figures were supposed to -represent the sum, and the matter was discussed with that singular -absence of reserve or delicacy with which fashionable and well-bred -society is apt to discuss the affairs of its host in the host’s own -house.</p> - -<p>Through the confused mingling of languages French could be detected as -the most universal. A fair, pale young man, with the grave questioning -air of a stranger who is disagreeably conscious of being shy and ill at -ease, and, above all, utterly and helplessly alone, was walking about -the rooms, amazed and bewildered by this Babel of tongues and types, -and seemed to entreat by his look of gentle fear that no one should -notice him or talk to him. He stared around with unquiet, troubled -blue eyes, so very blue, so hopelessly, stupidly frank and clear, like -a child’s, that they made more noticeable the extreme youthfulness -of his face and most slender figure. A mere boy, twenty-one years of -innocence and ignorance leaving him on the brink of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> manhood with only -the potentialities of his sex faintly shadowed in the lightest gold -stain above the soft upper lip. He had just stepped into the glare and -turmoil of life from the protected shadow of an isolated old castle -in Rapolden Kirchen, with no more reliable and scientific guide to -the mysteries of existence than a tender and nervous mother, who, -after bringing him up like a girl, had left him for another sphere, -and no other knowledge of the passions and their complex sensations -than that to be gathered in a close and fervent study of music. It is -easy to picture him. A reserved lad of high-bred Austrian type, with -a glacially pure face, and heart fluttering with girlish timidity, -half-frightened and half-attracted by the world he interprets in the -vague light of his own pathetic ignorance, just conscious of opening -curiosities upon the eternal feminine, and ready to sink with shame the -instant a strange woman looked at him.</p> - -<p>“Who is that charming boy?” asked a handsome old lady, whose motherly -heart was touched by the childish uneasiness and loneliness of his -attitude.</p> - -<p>“That fair-haired young fellow near the window?” her companion -answered. “Nice looking, isn’t he? A very pretty young lady, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be so malicious. Men are always jealous of a handsome boy. You -know how powerfully he appeals to our sympathetic sex. But who is he?”</p> - -<p>“Rudolph Ehrenstein—a nephew of Madame von Hohenfels. He has just lost -his mother, and is travelling in search of distraction. Some of these -young ladies will doubtless take compassion on him.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, with that pretty face and doleful forsaken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> air he will not have -to go far for a willing consoler.”</p> - -<p>“It would be the very best thing for him,” said the popular poet, -joining them. “One never knows how much to believe of gossip, -especially in this centre of <i>canards</i>, but they speak of him already -as the Natzelhuber’s latest flame.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens! Not possible, surely!” cried the old lady, in a tremor -of delighted horror. “He has the face of an angel.”</p> - -<p>“Angels have been known to fall, Madame,” said the poet, with his best -Parisian bow and cynical shrug, throwing a challenging glance at his -neighbour as if to defy him to prove that Théophile Gautier or Dumas -could have capped an observation more neatly; and then quoted with a -beatific consciousness of his own smartness: “L’ange n’est complet que -lorsqu’ il est déchu.”</p> - -<p>“Talk of women’s tongues! You men have never a good word to say either -of yourselves or of us.”</p> - -<p>“Is there not a proverb to that effect as regards the ladies?”</p> - -<p>“Calumny, my friend, pure calumny. Men have had the monopoly of -proverbs, and, of course, they have used them as they have used -everything else, against us. It does not follow that even the clever -man believes all the smart and satirical things he says of our sex, -but an arrow shot at us looks a smarter achievement than a juster -arrow aimed at yourselves. And the smart thing goes down to a duller -posterity, and there’s your proverb. Truth is as likely to be in it as -in the bottom of the proverbial well!”</p> - -<p>“I shall seek it henceforth in you, Madame. Can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> you tell me if there -is any truth in the announcement that the Natzelhuber is coming -to-night?”</p> - -<p>“Madame von Hohenfels looks certainly anxious and doubtful. You know -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber has an alarming reputation.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, abominably eccentric—and ugly,” sighed the poet.</p> - -<p>Rudolph Ehrenstein, modestly unconscious that the reliable voice of -Public Opinion, glancing at his wings, had been pleased to pronounce -them singed and soiled, had retreated into a deep recess and was -nearly hidden by a silk curtain and tall palm branches. He sat down -on a low chair, and rejoiced that here, at least, there were no bare -obtrusive shoulders and brilliant orbs to dazzle him, no scented skirts -to trouble him, and that the murmur of varied tongues and voices and -the whirr of fans came to him in softened sound. He was just closing -his eyes to think of the old dim castle of Rapolden Kirchen and his -beloved mother, whose subdued manner and tone seemed to him the more -exquisite to remember because of the noisy and strongly perfumed women -around him, when a man near the door caught sight of him through his -gold-rimmed eyeglass, and starting forward, burst into his retreat -with clamorous recognition and two extended hands, the offering of -demonstrative friendship.</p> - -<p>“Delighted, charming boy, delighted to see you so soon again. Heard -from the baroness you were expected in Athens, but no idea you would be -here to-night.”</p> - -<p>“I arrived last evening,” said Ehrenstein, standing up and grasping the -proffered hands with a look of relief, as if he found the necessary -restorative in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> touch. “What a quantity of strangers there are -here! All their different languages have made my head ache.”</p> - -<p>His companion was a rich Greek merchant from Trieste, who was arrayed -in extremely florid evening dress and wore a very large white camelia. -He glanced at the boy’s mourning studs and sighed as if recalled -suddenly to the stern sorrows of life, and then blew a little whiff -which expressed the recognised evanescence of even sorrow and -bereavement, and thrust their presence from him.</p> - -<p>“Well, you see, we Greeks have to draw very largely upon foreign -countries for our entertainments,” he said, slipping his arm into -Ehrenstein’s and dragging him gently out of the recess. “As a Greek -from abroad, I regret to say that it would be impossible to mix with -the pure Athenians for any purposes of social pleasure. They can -neither talk, dance, nor eat like civilised beings. In fact, my dear -Ehrenstein, they are not civilised.”</p> - -<p>“What a dreadful thing to say of the descendants of the ancient -Greeks,” laughed Rudolph.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the ancient Greeks!” exclaimed Agiropoulos, airily. “If you are -going back to those old fossils, I will candidly admit that I am out of -my depth. There is nothing I am more heartily sick of than the ancient -Greek. There’s Jarovisky over there, a perfect lunatic on the subject. -Homer for breakfast, Homer for dinner, and Homer for supper admits of -variety with improvement. He reads Homer on the terrace by moonlight, -and falls asleep with Homer under his pillow. My opinion of the ancient -Greeks is, that they were not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> one whit better than their amiable -representatives of to-day. They were men of great natural eloquence -and literary gifts, and knew how to lay on their colours with an eye -to future generations. But we have only their version, and it would -require at least twenty connecting evidences to prove the word of one -Athenian. Why, to hear them talk to-day, one might imagine theirs the -chief nation of Europe, and Athens its handsomest capital—dull, ugly -little Athens!”</p> - -<p>They were walking round the rooms, when Agiropoulos, surveying the -crowd through his aggressive eyeglass, suddenly asked his friend if he -had been introduced to any ladies.</p> - -<p>“I have been introduced to nobody yet except the Greek Minister—oh, I -forgot, a young English attaché.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I see the baroness is resolved to keep you hovering yearningly -upon the skirts of paradise. Never mind, my child, I will find you -a houri. There is a very handsome brunette, the prettiest girl in -Athens. Her French is fit for the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and her <i>dot</i> -acceptable should your views incline that way. My faith, I would not -object to either myself, but my time has not come for settling down. -Butterfly, you know, from sweet to sweet, and that sort of thing. Sad -dog, as those droll English say. Ah!—””</p> - -<p>Before Rudolph could demand an explanation of this singular and -enigmatic avowal, understood by even such white innocence as his to -hint at something darkly and yet pleasantly irregular, the Baroness -von Hohenfels bore down upon the young men with a disturbed expression -of face. She tapped Agiropoulos on the shoulder with her fan, and said -hurriedly:— </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My dear M. Agiropoulos, I am greatly alarmed about the Natzelhuber. -You, I believe, are the best authority on her movements and caprices. -Do you know why she has not come?”</p> - -<p>“I do not, indeed, Madame la Baronne,” answered Agiropoulos, bowing, -and twirling his moustache with a fatuous smile. “But it is not so very -late.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know what very primitive hours we keep in Athens?” the -baroness cried testily. “Did you see her to-day, Rudolph?”</p> - -<p>Young Ehrenstein flushed and shrank a little with a hint of anxious -pain in his blue eyes.</p> - -<p>“No, aunt, I called, but Mademoiselle Natzelhuber was not visible,” he -said.</p> - -<p>Agiropoulos looked at him sharply with an imperceptible frown, and -then, turning to his hostess, resumed his smile of fatuous security, -and said:</p> - -<p>“To relieve your doubts, Madame la Baronne, I will drive at once to the -lady’s house, and carry her back with me, if even I must employ force.”</p> - -<p>“Do so, and you will earn my lasting gratitude. We are all dying to -hear her play, and her name was the attraction to-night,” and Madame -von Hohenfels brightened. “Come with me, Rudolph. I must find you some -lively girl to chat you into good-humour. Delay as little as possible, -M. Agiropoulos.”</p> - -<p>Agiropoulos bowed low and retired, while Rudolph silently offered his -arm to his aunt, shrinking still and wounded.</p> - -<p>“It is a great disappointment that M. Reineke is not here to-night. -He, also, is a new lion—singularly handsome and captivating and very -clever, they say. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> created quite a sensation in Paris last winter. -But he got ill coming from Egypt and I suppose he will make his first -appearance at the Jaroviskys’ ball next week.”</p> - -<p>“Is there to be a ball next week?” Rudolph asked listlessly.</p> - -<p>“Of course; are we not all vying to honour an English Cabinet minister? -He will probably write about us when he gets home.”</p> - -<p>“Who are those girls laughing so loudly?” Rudolph asked, with no -particular desire for information.</p> - -<p>“They belong to the American legation. Not exactly the choice I would -have you make in girls’ society, my dear,—intolerably loud and -vulgar,” said the Baroness, surveying them through her long-handled and -elegant <i>face-à-main</i> which she raised to her eyes. “They represent the -United States—most deplorably. I want you to cultivate the society of -the Mowbray Thomases—English Embassy. Here is the son, Vincent, a very -nice boy who can speak intelligible French for a wonder, and will, I am -sure, be glad to teach you tennis and cricket.”</p> - -<p>“He is quite a boy,” cried Rudolph, cheerfully. “I shall be less afraid -of him than of your lively young ladies.”</p> - -<p>Agiropoulos had in the meantime driven to Academy Street, where -Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhuber was staying. He found the house in -complete darkness, and only when he had made a considerable noise did -a somnolent and astonished servant thrust her head out of a window and -demand his business.</p> - -<p>“Where is your mistress, Polyxena?” cried Agiropoulos. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - -<p>“In bed, sir.”</p> - -<p>“In the name of all that is wonderful, has Photini gone clean out of -her senses? In bed, and all Athens waiting for her at the Austrian -Embassy!”</p> - -<p>Polyxena leisurely unbolted the door, and Agiropoulos rushed past her -up the stairs, and hammered frantically outside Photini’s bedroom door.</p> - -<p>“Photini, get up and dress this instant. I insist. I swear I will not -leave off knocking until you come out—not even at the risk of driving -all the neighbours mad!” he shouted.</p> - -<p>“What the devil do you want at this time of night, Agiropoulos?” was -roared back to him. “I will box that girl’s ears for letting you in. -Stop that row. You must be drunk.”</p> - -<p>“Come, no nonsense, Photini. I am serious, on my soul I am. You’ve been -expected at the Austrian Embassy for the last hour and a half. It is -just eleven, and Athenian receptions break up at midnight, you know.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose they want me to play. I had forgotten all about it. The -mischief take the idiots! For goodness’ sake stop that noise, and I’ll -get up.”</p> - -<p>It was a little after eleven when a murmur ran through the rooms on the -Patissia Road that Agiropoulos had returned with the missing Pleiad. -Every one pressed eagerly forward to see the great and eccentric -artist. Corns were gratuitously trodden upon and the proprietors forgot -to swear, dresses were crushed, and no lady remembered to cover a cross -expression with a mendacious smile and a feeble “It does not matter;” -all faces wore an expression of open anxiety, curiosity, and wonder. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Quite a bear, I hear,” somebody whispered, audibly, “bites and snarls -even. Dresses abominably, and swears like a trooper.”</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Natzelhuber entered the room a little in advance of -Agiropoulos, whose smile was one of radiant self-approval and -triumph,—he quite enjoyed this open recognition of his <i>ménage -irregulier</i>. Photini wore a look of hardly concealed contempt and -indifference, and advanced slowly, meeting the multitudinous gaze -of curiosity with a regal calmness. Her dress was dowdy and common: -she was stout and low-sized, but she succeeded in carrying off these -details with truly majestic grace. It was impossible to titter or -sneer; despite all shocks of disappointment, it was impossible not to -meet gravely that grave indifferent glance, and recognise a strange -kind of superiority in its lambent topaz imperturbability. All eyes -were fixed upon her but two boyish blue eyes that, after one swift -and inquiring look, were averted in a poignant confusion of emotions. -Instead, they rested on Agiropoulos.</p> - -<p>Madame von Hohenfels moved towards the artist with a gracious smile of -welcome, and expressed her pleasure in very cordial terms,—she could -afford to be exuberant now that she was relieved of the terror of this -woman’s possible defection.</p> - -<p>“This, I believe, is your first appearance in Athens after a long -absence, Mademoiselle Natzelhuber.”</p> - -<p>“Where is your piano, Madame? You did not invite me for the sake of my -handsome face, I suppose. Then pass compliments and come to business.”</p> - -<p>“Qu’elle est grossière,” was the comment that ran round the room, -and the English Cabinet Minister, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> Right Honourable Samuel -Warren, gazed at her through his eyeglass, and lisped, “What a very -extraordinary creature!” One does not mix in the highest diplomatic -circles for nothing, and the Baroness von Hohenfels was perfectly -competent to extricate herself and her guests from an awkward situation -with both grace and glory. She laughed musically, as if something -specially witty had been said, and led the way to the grand piano. The -seat was a high one, and Photini tranquilly kicked it down, and gazed -around her in search of a low stool. Agiropoulos rushed forward with a -chair of the required height, and the artist sat down amid universal -silence and touched the keys lightly, upon which her nose might -conveniently have played, so near were both. After a few searching -bars she burst into Liszt’s splendid orchestral arrangement of “Don -Giovanni.”</p> - -<p>Agiropoulos cared nothing whatever about her music, and wandered round -the room till he reached the place where Ehrenstein was standing.</p> - -<p>“That was a delicate mission, eh, Ehrenstein?” he said, with his -persistent smile. “Successfully accomplished too.”</p> - -<p>“Its success is as apparent as its delicacy,” retorted Rudolph. He was -filled with astonishment at the wave of bitterness towards this oily -self-satisfied Greek that swelled within him.</p> - -<p>Agiropoulos caught the unmistakable ironical tone.</p> - -<p>“Might I request you to define your precise meaning, my young friend?” -he asked, drily.</p> - -<p>“That is easily done. You have acted to-night as no gentleman should.”</p> - -<p>All girlish timidity had faded out of Rudolph’s eyes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> which flashed -like gem fire in the sparkle of honest indignation.</p> - -<p>“Ho! is that where we are?” cried the Greek, with a low exasperating -laugh, as he twisted his moustache and examined the gloss of his shoes. -“And the crime?”</p> - -<p>“In permitting my aunt to speak to you in a distinctly offensive way of -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, and in smiling as you did when you entered -the room with her.”</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow, what a simpleton you are to talk in this superannuated -style about the Natzelhuber.”</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle Natzelhuber is a woman. An honourable gentleman makes no -distinction between women as regards certain laws. The same courtesy -and consideration are due to all.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t tilt against windmills in this extravagant way, Ehrenstein,” -said Agiropoulos, laughing good-humoredly. “Why, Photini would be the -first to laugh at us for a pair of imbeciles if she heard that we -quarrelled about her. She does not want consideration. She is rather a -fine fellow in a rough and manly way of her own—very rough, I admit.”</p> - -<p>“Pray, make no mistake about me. I object to such vulgar classification -as you are disposed to make,” cried Rudolph, sharply.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be as wide and as refined as you like—platonic, artistic, -spiritual—whichever suits you best. But we may not doubt the -admiration, my friend.”</p> - -<p>“To prevent gross misinterpretation, I will give you the situation. -I hold myself willingly and proudly enslaved to such genius as hers. -I would gladly sit in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> silence all my life if my ear might be filled -with music such as hers. For the sake of that, I am ready to offer my -friendship, and forget the rest.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph stood back a little with a listening rapt expression, and -Agiropoulos glanced contemptuously down at Photini. Agiropoulos was -constitutionally incapable of understanding disinterested admiration. -His sentiments were coarse and definite, and to him were unknown the -conditions of strife, probation, unrewarded and unexacting love, -self-distrust and tremulous aspiration and fear; above all, was he -free from a young man’s humble reverence of womanhood, which, in the -abstract, was to him something so greatly inferior to himself as to -be below consideration. Cheerful it must be to escape the hesitations -and exquisitely painful flutterings between doubt and hope, and the -thousand and one causes of clouded bliss, to the more fastidious and -ideal Northern nature. He looked forward to a suitable marriage when -his relations with Photini should come to an end, but was not concerned -with the question of choice. Girls are plentiful enough, and handsome -or ugly, they come to the same thing in the long run: mothers of -children of whose looks their husbands are unconscious.</p> - -<p>In response to the loud applause which greeted her last chord, -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber rose slowly, bent her head as low as her -knees, the mossy black curls rolling over her forehead like a veil, and -her hands hanging straight down beside her. No one present had ever -seen a lady bow in this masculine fashion, and following the breathless -magnificence of her playing it so awed her spectators that some moments -of dead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> silence passed before they were able to break into their -many-tongued speech.</p> - -<p>“Let me have some cognac, if you please,” she said, curtly, turning to -her delighted hostess.</p> - -<p>What will not the mistress of a salon endure if she may furnish her -guests with a thoroughly new sensation! And certainly Mademoiselle was -a very novel sensation.</p> - -<p>The cognac was promptly administered to the artist, and the people -began to move about and express their opinions.</p> - -<p>“That girl is tremendously admired here,” said Agiropoulos to Rudolph, -drawing his attention to a noticeable group of young ladies. “Her name -is Mademoiselle Eméraude Veritassi. She was not christened Eméraude, -I may mention, but we are so very Parisian at Athens that we insist -on translating everything, even our own names, into French. The girl -beside her is <i>Miss Mary</i> Perpignani, and her brother <i>Mr. John</i> -Perpignani, though neither of them knows a word of English. It is -<i>chic</i> with us. I am Tonton. I can’t exactly say what language it may -be, but it isn’t Greek, and that you see is the main thing. My sister -Persephone calls herself Proserpine.”</p> - -<p>“What bad taste! Persephone is surely a beautiful name.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but it is Greek—not fashionable, not <i>chic</i>. And if we have no -<i>chic</i>, my friend, we have no <i>raison d’être</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Who is that going to play now?” asked Rudolph.</p> - -<p>“Good heavens! it’s Melpomene—and after the Natzelhuber!”</p> - -<p>No wonder there was much admiration expressed at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> the nerve of the -lady who bravely undertook to play such a masterpiece as Chopin’s -“Barcarolle” in the presence of a master not given to handle offenders -gently. But everyone was disposed to receive the amiable imperfection -of an amateur with indulgence, while it was impossible to conjecture -the feelings of the short-haired woman who was quietly sipping her -second glass of cognac on an ottoman and listening with a fixed neutral -stare in her yellow eyes. When the piece was over, the artist rose, and -said with awful measured politeness:</p> - -<p>“Does Madame imagine that she has played Chopin’s ‘Barcarolle?’ -Doubtless Madame has mistaken the name. I will play the ‘Barcarolle’ -now.”</p> - -<p>It is easy to understand the feelings with which Madame retired, and -the feelings aroused in the breast of Madame’s irate husband, who -glared vengeance from the other end of the room; and for one moment -every one recognised that a <i>star</i> is not the most agreeable ornament -of society, but this idea was soon swept away upon magic sound. -Could there be anything dreamed of on earth like the beauty of the -“Barcarolle” so played? Enthusiasm reached the white-heat of passion. -Ladies tore the flowers from their bosoms, men from their button-holes -and flung them at her; faces went white and red, and eyes filled with -tears. And there stood Agiropoulos smiling blandly and taking half the -triumph as his own, while Rudolph had gone back to his recess and was -sobbing unrestrainedly in sheer ecstasy.</p> - -<p>When the first wave of emotion had subsided, and the artist had bowed -her acknowledgment in the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> curious way, too contemptuous even to -shake the flowers off her person, her host stepped forward to offer her -his arm and lead her towards the buffet in another room. Somebody else -stepped forward with gracious intent, a young self-sufficient viscount, -the nephew of the distinguished French minister. He bowed low, and -acquainted her with the agreeable fact that he had never heard anything -like her playing of the “Barcarolle,” and his regret that Chopin -himself could not hear it. Mademoiselle looked at him meditatively for -some trying seconds, then said calmly:</p> - -<p>“Do you really believe, sir, that I require your approval? Be so good, -sir, as to confine your observations on music to your equals.”</p> - -<p>“Truly a remarkable and slightly disconcerting person,” said the -English Cabinet Minister, arranging his eyeglass the better to observe -her. “Extraordinary, egad! I suppose artists are bound to be erratic. -But don’t you think they could play just as well with hair like -everybody else, and decent manners?”</p> - -<p>His companion was of opinion they could, and suggested that the artist -in question would create a lively sensation in a London drawing-room.</p> - -<p>“By Jove, yes. Suppose we strike a bargain with her, and carry her back -with us. We might label her—‘authentic specimen of a Greek barbarian, -picked up near the Acropolis; dangerous.’”</p> - -<p>All the guests now struggled forward in search of refreshments. But -Rudolph strolled about waiting for an opportunity to see Photini -alone. His gratitude and admiration were at that exalted pitch when -an outpouring is imperative. He knew nothing of the vile report<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> that -had been circulated concerning his own relations with her, and sought -her with the damning candour of complete innocence. He found her, and -the discovery sent a shock of horror through him that almost stopped -the beating of his heart. She was in the centre of a noisy laughing -group of men, smoking a cigarette and holding an empty liqueur glass -in her hand into which the Baron von Hohenfels was pouring some -brandy, laughing boisterously and joking hideously. Every nerve within -him thrilled in an agony of shame. This the glorious interpreter of -heavenly sound! This the artist he so passionately desired to reverence -as a woman, while worshipping her genius! He was half prompted to -go away in silence, when his eyes caught the sarcastic triumph of -Agiropoulos’ smile. With a mighty effort he gulped down the bitterness -of disappointment and shocked surprise, and bravely went forward.</p> - -<p>“I have been looking for you, Mademoiselle,” he said coldly. “I wanted -so much to thank you for the delight you have given me to-night—this -addition to past delight,” he added, holding out his hand.</p> - -<p>“Ah! my little Austrian page!” Photini cried, laughing into his -solemn grieved face. “I got your card to-day. You must come and see -me again. The ‘Mélodiés Hongroises’ you know. I’ve promised you that. -A pretty fellow is your nephew, Baron, and quite as charming as he is -pretty. But too grave, too grave, and too—<i>sans reproche</i>,” she added -cynically.</p> - -<p>All the men looked at Rudolph curiously, and laughed. The boy flushed -scarlet, bowed and walked away. The rooms were rapidly thinning, and -recognising him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> as a member of the Hohenfels family, several guests -stopped to shake hands with him as they passed him. He received their -advances mechanically, hardly heard a word addressed to him, and was -still in a dream when his aunt and her husband returned to join him in -the empty chambers.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II.</span> <span class="smaller">THE BARON VON HOHENFELS EXPRESSES AN OPINION.</span></h2> - -<p>That night Rudolph did not go to bed. He spent some hours walking up -and down his room in a nervous agitation he could by no means account -for. It seemed to him that he had been dropped into a disagreeably -topsy-turvy world, and the thought made him wretched and unhappy: -dissatisfied and perplexed by his own state, fierce in a vague kind -of resentment against Agiropoulos, and filled with an immeasurable -grief for Photini. With such soul in her fingers she appeared to him -through an ugly cloud like a battered and draggled angel, and he sat -disconsolately gazing at the blue and golden flames from the beautiful -star-fire above, and asked himself how had it happened, and was there -for her henceforth no struggling back into the paths of sweet womanhood -from which she had strangely and openly strayed?</p> - -<p>Yet why should he grieve so passionately for Photini? No affair of -his if she courted slander and irreverent familiarity; nor yet if she -indulged in inadmissible tastes in public, and wounded and insulted -all who came near her. His own birth and its responsibilities surely -excluded him from such preoccupations, and his natural fastidiousness -made relations, however slight and flexible, with a woman like -Photini <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>impossible. This he knew well, and despite the knowledge -felt miserably sad and unquiet. He wanted so much that she should not -degrade his high ideal of the artist who has received nature’s patent -of nobility, and a lonely impressionable boy like Rudolph could not -afford to stand by tamely and watch the dethroning of his idol. For -Photini had been his idol long before they had met. Her name had been -borne into his retreat from many quarters, and no one had hinted to -him her unlovableness—her disreputableness. Liszt had only spoken to -him of her genius with enthusiasm. Had his small circle deliberately -conspired to keep him in ignorance of this cruel reality, while he -was wandering and losing himself in a forest of delicate and poetic -illusions?—building hope upon hope of an unanalysable nature until his -whole happiness grew to bind itself round the thought of this unknown -woman crowned by art with a glory greater than her womanhood? Photini -Natzelhuber! His mother had often told him of the time she first came -to Vienna, a slip of a girl, with a curly boyish head and the strangest -topaz eyes. Mossy dark hair and topaz eyes with divine fingers—what -more did it require to set aflame a dreamy imaginative lad? And when -strangers visited the Castle at Rapolden Kirchen and spoke of her, -he never seemed to understand that years had flown and left her less -girlish, but pictured her like Art, like a goddess ever young. And when -he read of knightly reverence and allegiance, he told himself that one -day he should go abroad and seek Photini. He dreamed of no conditions -or reward, not of marriage or of love in the ordinary sense. To wear -her colours, serve her in true devotion, honour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> her above all women, -and humbly sue the privilege to obey her commands and caprices with -some considerable recreative pauses for music—this was Rudolph’s -innocent dream. Remember he was brought up by a high-bred mother, all -grace and gentle benignity, a woman who wore her widowhood like a -sovereign lady to whom man’s homage was a sweet claim. And her pretty -and impracticable theories but helped to feed the fires of a fatally -romantic temperament, while his complete and unboylike isolation left -him an easy prey to the riotous play of fancy. Then is it any wonder -that reality at the outset should both crush and bewilder him?</p> - -<p>He opened the window, and leant far out with his head against his hand, -that the cold night air might blow upon him. Through the confusion of -his mind he could gather no dim or possible conclusion upon which to -shape immediate action. He dreaded meeting Photini again, for he felt -he could never forgive her for the havoc she had made of all his bright -hopes. Then softly through the silence of the night waved in echoing -dimness the lovely strains of the “Barcarolle,” with its ever recurrent -note of passionate melancholy, its very voluptousness of exquisite pain -and the musical rhythm of the oars breaking through the water murmur. -The memoried sounds flushed his cheek with trembling delight, and he -rushed to his violin and tried to pick out the dominant melody. But who -could ever hope to play it as she did? And, happily, he became mindful -of the possible objections of others to this faint nocturnal music, and -generously put up his instrument.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he sighed, “if Photini be hardly a woman,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> what an artist, good -heavens!” Must much not be forgiven undeniable genius? And was all -the ideal love irrevocably vanished? If only he could know. For this -uncertainty disturbed him and made him unhappy, and unhappiness is not -exactly the condition that enables a young man to see clearly into his -own mind or into anybody else’s. He would try to sleep, and then this -tempest of emotion and harassing conflict would blow over and leave his -eyes clearer to see what he ought to do and leave undone.</p> - -<p>But Rudolph did not sleep, and a sleepless night, we know, works -disastrously upon the nerves and looks. When he appeared downstairs his -uncle glanced up casually from his papers, and, stirring his chocolate, -said in surprise:</p> - -<p>“Why, whatever is the matter with you, Rudolph? This is too absurd. A -girl wouldn’t look so battered after a first ball.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I am battered, I suppose. I’ve passed a bad night and I am not -used to it,” said Rudolph listlessly.</p> - -<p>“A bad night! a fellow of your age! Is it possible? Fact is, my dear -boy, your mother has ruined you. Nothing worse than to pamper and -coddle up lads as if they were girls. Your mother had no business to -keep you immured in that ghostly old place with no hardier society than -her own.”</p> - -<p>“I wish she were there still and I with her,” said poor Rudolph, with a -little break in his voice and a faint clouding of his blue eyes.</p> - -<p>“Of course, of course,” hastily cried the volatile baron, whom all -evidence of emotion struck chill. “The wish does you and her credit. -But all the same,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> it is not exactly fit training for a boy. Makes him -whimsical and sensitive and shy—a lively prey for all adventurers -male and female, especially female. Fact is, it is most enervating and -absurd. You ought to have seen something of society long ago, Rudolph; -you ought indeed. Men and manners—you know your classics?”</p> - -<p>“That is just my difficulty. Men and manners—to find them -disappointing and strange. My brief glimpse of them has both sickened -and saddened me.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense! You must face life like a man; not dream it away like a puny -sentimental girl. You want backbone and nerve, Rudolph, you do indeed. -Men are not saints nor women angels. Well, what of that? They are not -expected to be so until they get into the next world, which time, -as far as I am concerned, I trust will be postponed to the furthest -limits. Then the ladies find their wings and the men get canonised, -that is, if they haven’t taken snuff. I believe a very estimable saint -was once refused canonisation because he took snuff; can’t swear to it, -however. For the rest, my boy, adopt the aphorism of the wise German, -who was good enough to discover that everything is arranged for the -best in this best of all possible worlds.”</p> - -<p>“You can take things lightly, uncle, but I cannot.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not,” rejoined the baron, lighting a cigar. “Whoever heard -of a young man taking anything lightly except his debts?”</p> - -<p>“I do not ask that men should be saints nor women angels.”</p> - -<p>“It is considerate of you to be so unexacting. Pass<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> the saintship of -your own sex, young men have the extremely awkward habit of quarrelling -with women as soon as they discover they are not angels.”</p> - -<p>“But I do seek for evidences of gentlemanly feeling, for decent -manners and chivalrous speech,” Rudolph went on, ignoring the Baron’s -interruptions.</p> - -<p>“Now you are hardly so unexacting. This strikes me as demanding -something more than sanctity, for it is quite possible that a saint may -be an ill-mannered cad,” said the baron gravely.</p> - -<p>“I hope, sir, that you will not be offended with me if I express a wish -to return to Austria,” said Rudolph, after a pause, nervously devoted -to industrious crumbling.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, Rudolph,” cried the baron, facing him with a disconcerting -steadiness of gaze, “I am very seriously offended to hear you express -such a wish. Your aunt and I have cherished the hope that you would -find your stay with us pleasant enough to make your visit a prolonged -one. What has upset you? If there is anything we can do to make you -comfortable, I beg you will state your wishes and count them fulfilled.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, nothing indeed, I assure you. You and my dear aunt are -kindness itself, and I am most truly grateful. But I am not happy, -uncle. Do not blame me if I seem capricious.”</p> - -<p>“Seem! Well, and are you not?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot help it if I am perplexed and grieved. I think I should -feel less troubled in Rapolden Kirchen, that is all,” Rudolph slowly -explained, bending his head with apparent anxiety over the little heap -of crumbs he was making with his knife. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - -<p>His uncle watching him narrowly saw the sensitive lips tremble under -the soft moustache.</p> - -<p>“Come, unveil the mystery, Rudolph,” he said with a quiet smile. “Who -is the woman? For, Gad, it looks deucedly like a first prick of love. -Nothing else smarts so keenly at your age.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph shrank visibly from the coarse frank glance of worldly eyes -directed upon a wound so intangible, so especially delicate, and -yet open to misconstruction. To grieve about a woman argues the -existence of the commoner sentiment, and he loathed the thought of -his fine instinct being so misinterpreted. But could a bland and -heavy ambassador, who smokes the best cigars and lounges on the -softest cushions in irreproachable attire, skilful in gastronomy and -a connoisseur in feminine points, be possibly expected to seize and -rightly interpret the daintier emotions and pangs of a more exquisite -and spiritual organism?</p> - -<p>“There is nothing of that matter in my trouble, but I believe I am -unfitted for society. I don’t like it; much that others, possibly wiser -and better than I, hardly note offends me.”</p> - -<p>“You find the charming illusions nurtured in the seclusion of Rapolden -Kirchen rudely dispelled,” suggested the baron, looking what he felt, a -trifle bored by the lad’s heavy earnestness, but admirably sustained by -the comfort of good tobacco. “That happens to every one, though I have -no doubt it would afford you immeasurable satisfaction to look upon -your case as exceptional. All this is quite correct, since it is so, -and if this very interesting and pleasant world realised the fastidious -ideal of youth, my dear fellow, it would not be a fit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> place for any -sensible man to live in. Be reasonable, Rudolph. Give poor society -another chance before you decide to abandon it to inevitable perdition. -There will be plenty of balls presently. Stay and see if you cannot -reconcile your flighty imagination to a waltz or two with some pretty -Athenians. You may not credit it, but there are two very pretty girls -here.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III.</span> <span class="smaller">FAREWELL TO YOU!—TO YOU GOOD CHEER!</span></h2> - -<p>Given a young man of average resolution in force against an -acknowledged and violently self-disapproved inclination, seated in a -pleasant morning-room, with clear broad rays of December sunshine, -as it knows how to shine in winter in Greece, pouring in through the -lattice-work of the windows, every leaf in the garden singing and -proclaiming that out-of-doors there is gladness of sight as well as -gladness of sound, to soothe the mind of restless and melancholy youth. -It will go hard with that young man to resist the temptation to get -up, shake out the draggled plumes of thought, and canter away into the -country—or why own an uncle who has a horse or two to be had for the -asking? One cannot lock oneself away in a dismal chamber merely as -a correction against one’s own irregular impulses. Besides, was not -his resolution there to act as constable, and move them on if unruly -subjects showed any tendency to loiter on the way? So Rudolph made -himself look very spruce in a dark green riding coat he had bought in -Vienna, and much more suited to the forest depths of Rapolden Kirchen -than the high-road of a modern town, put on a pair of brown gauntlet -gloves, also scenting too suspiciously of the forest, with long black -boots, and he only wanted a forester’s plumed hat to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>complete the -picture. But he looked exceedingly handsome, and as, abroad, all -eccentricities of costume are credited to the English, he was taken as -a fair young milord as he cantered briskly along the Partissia Road. -Somebody met him and remarked afterwards to the Baron von Hohenfels -that “he had had the pleasure of seeing his nephew on horseback got up -like Gessler without the hat.”</p> - -<p>On the youth rode, quite pleased with his green coat and his fine -boots, flicking away an occasional fly from the ear of his bay with a -dainty riding whip, and inhaling delightedly the soft odours of the -winter landscape. He would have liked to whistle or sing.</p> - -<p>“Decidedly, Athens is a charming place,” he thought to himself. “All -my life till now I have been frozen at this time of the year, and -here the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the sea is smiling -out there its very bluest smile, and it would be impossible to paint -the lovely colours of the landscape. Hills everywhere, with a long -silver plain—the plain of Attica! I wonder where this road leads to? -Somewhere out into the country, but it does not matter. I’ll ride to -the end of it, and then I’ll ride back.”</p> - -<p>It was an enchanting ride. He saw a little beer garden, and stopped to -see if the beer of Athens were as refreshing as its air. Well, no; he -thought on the whole that he had tasted better beer in Vienna, but the -place was quaint, and, who knows? perhaps a centre of classic memories. -He would look into Baedeker on his return. Certainly the waiters -left much to be desired in manner, in attendance, and in personal -appearance. Then he thought of riding back, paid his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> score, leaving -what would have been considered a satisfactory tip for any one but a -proverbially prodigal milord,—that article, with a proper respect for -itself, not being thought guilty of a knowledge of coppers,—mounted -his horse, and turned its head towards Athens.</p> - -<p>His pace this time was not so brisk, nor did his face or the atmosphere -seem quite so happy. A vague consciousness of what was awaiting him was -slowly beginning to make itself felt through the recent satisfaction -of moral superiority, and that consciousness weighted his horse’s -step, as it weighted his own boy’s heart. And yet it was fate that was -guiding him, and not his own will. Of course not. When does the will -ever guide the unwilling, and where would any of us be in moments of -complicated decision, if it were not for that convenient scapegoat and -disentangler—Fate?</p> - -<p>The museums afforded an excuse for putting off the evil moment, and a -lad was found to hold the bay while Rudolph went inside to examine the -curiosities. He did all that was to be done; stood gravely before Greek -vase after Greek vase, each one the exact counterpart of the other, -and while running the silver handle of his riding-whip along his lips, -told himself that it was really curious that so many intelligent people -should be found ready to go into ecstasies over this sort of thing, -and prefer to look at a cracked red vase with mad figures on it, to -a living pretty face, or a pine-fringed mountain, or the rain-clouds -scattered across the blue heavens. And then he gazed at the coins; -gazed at broken statues, and at whatever wearied and polite attendants -were willing to show him.</p> - -<p>“Well, I am not archæological, that is certain,” he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> thought, mounting -his bay with an open alacrity that might be described as a silent -“Hurrah!” and flew—not to the Austrian Embassy, but to Academy Street.</p> - -<p>When he asked Polyxena in his blandest tones if her mistress was -visible, that gracious minister unto art nodded, and pointed with her -thumb over her shoulder:</p> - -<p>“Go up there, you will find her about.”</p> - -<p>“The Natzelhuber has picked up a perfect counterpart of herself,” -Agiropoulos had remarked, which struck Rudolph as unpleasantly accurate.</p> - -<p>When Rudolph, after a timid knock, opened the door, he found the -pianiste lying on a worn black sofa, smoking a cigarette and reading a -French novel, with three cats about her, one comfortably seated at her -head, and one across her feet. On the hearthrug there were two dogs -feigning to be asleep, in order the more conveniently to pry into the -affairs of man, and ridicule together the secrets they had discerned -between two blinks and a snap at a fly. The room was poorly furnished -and disorderly. A piano which had seen battle and better days, a faded -carpet; music on the floor, music on tables, music on chairs. Over -the mantelpiece a large portrait of Liszt, under it Rubinstein, above -Beethoven, and on either side Chopin and George Sand.</p> - -<p>In this little group of portraits consisted the sole decoration of the -bare white walls, and a table in a corner held all that its owner had -amassed of precious things in her public career: her medals gained -at the Conservatoire, the few gifts of gold-studded objects she had -condescended in her most amenable moods to accept from grand dukes -and duchesses, and other courtly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> wealthy admirers. She looked at -Ehrenstein without getting up, and said:</p> - -<p>“What do you want?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” he retorted, sitting down uninvited, and staring at her a -moment in cold inquiry.</p> - -<p>She was not handsome, nay, she was ugly, and he was glad of it, being -still of the innocent belief that the face is the clear index of the -soul, and that a fair exterior cannot possibly cover a foul interior. -Then, too, the fact that she was unprepossessing made the course he was -contemplating so much the easier, since, however sincerely he might -regret the artist, he could not in conscience pretend it possible that -he should regret her face.</p> - -<p>“You are doing well, my young friend,” laughed the Natzelhuber, -“excellently well, ’pon my soul. Not so long ago a convent girl could -not beat you in humility, and to-day you’ve cheek enough to lend even -Agiropoulos a little.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Rudolph, lifting his eyebrows, and then changing his tone, -suddenly, “but I did not mean to be rude.”</p> - -<p>“Then what the devil do you mean?” the artist cried, lighting another -cigarette, with almost maternal precautions against disturbing her -cats. “Is that the way to come into a woman’s room, making yourself at -home without being asked, and impertinently saying you want nothing?”</p> - -<p>“If it comes to that, I might ask, is it habitual for morning callers -to be received by their hostess lying on a sofa, nursing three cats, -smoking, and to be asked what they wanted?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> - -<p>“A very reasonable attitude if it suits me, and a very reasonable -question. But since you are so susceptible and cantankerous, I’ll do -you the grace to change both to suit you,” she said good-humoredly, -removing her cats and placing them back on the sofa when she stood up; -then seating herself in an arm-chair, she added:</p> - -<p>“Now, what have you come for?”</p> - -<p>“To see you,” he said, smiling in spite of himself.</p> - -<p>“Much obliged, I am sure. Well, look away, and in the meantime I’ll -finish this chapter of my book.”</p> - -<p>The method of being severe and renunciatory, with a suitable Byronic -fold of the lip and stern compression of the brows—a kind of “fare -thee well, and if forever” expression—with a woman like this! Fancy -such a reception at twenty-one—when a young man is oldest, gravest, -intensest, and slightly melodramatic—from the object of shattered -dreams, the creature of agitated and complex feelings, and the cause -of poignant humiliation and vexed wonder! Yet the Natzelhuber was -unconsciously working most effectually for the boy’s good, and every -stab was a definite step on the road to recovery, and to a full lifting -of the veil of his own signal folly.</p> - -<p>“What makes you look so unhappy, Ehrenstein?” she asked, after a -considerable pause. “Have you been playing?”</p> - -<p>“No, mademoiselle. I did not know that I looked unhappy,” Rudolph -answered, colouring slightly.</p> - -<p>“You do then. But there is no need to ask why you are unhappy. You wear -your nature in your face, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> that proves to me that you will never be -happy—any more than my unlucky self.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because you are too refined and too fastidious, and too everything -else that goes to the making of a first-class irrational humbug. A man -who wishes to make the best of life should be able to take a little -of its mud comfortably, whereas you are ready even to turn up your -aristocratic nose at a little elegant dust.”</p> - -<p>“And you, mademoiselle? Why are you not happy?—for I cannot regard -dust or mud as the impediment here,” said Rudolph sarcastically.</p> - -<p>“Oh, for just the contrary reason. I am too <i>gamine</i>! It comes to the -same thing, child. We are both mad, though reaching the condition by -diametrically opposed roads. My life is ending, and it is too late -now to change had I even the desire,—but yours is beginning. Get -rid of all that superfluous refinement, and tell yourself that there -are things more real and more absolutely necessary than sugar and -ice-cream.”</p> - -<p>“What you say is very true, and I will remember it. But have you no -words of equal wisdom for your own case—although they say that doctors -are always better able to treat cholera in an alien body than a fit of -indigestion in themselves.”</p> - -<p>“I could say much, but I could not be sure of finding an attentive -audience in myself. You see I am a poor devil. Not so long ago I -had the musical world at my feet—only two names above me, and the -second Rubinstein, not so far away. Like this we were crowned,” she -explained, making a dot on the cover of her book, and calling it Liszt, -with a second lower down,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> on the right hand side, which represented -Rubinstein, and the last, on the left, hardly more than a thought below -the second—“there! the Natzelhuber. And turn from my fame to reality. -An ugly old woman without a sou, alone, friendless, ill, the only -companions of my solitude these cats and dogs, and that,” she added, -pointing to a bottle of brandy.</p> - -<p>“Is that not a very bad companion in solitude?” asked Rudolph, pained.</p> - -<p>“Not so very bad when it keeps you from cutting your throat in a morbid -moment.”</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle, command me—command all your true friends, for surely -it is impossible that genius such as yours has gathered no honest -friendship along its path, as well as empty honours. Whatever my -shortcomings may be in the way of entertaining, I will prove a better -counsellor than your present one,” he urged, forgetting all about -himself in his anxiety to save her from the approach of certain -degradation.</p> - -<p>She looked at him sharply, and then a curious softened light came into -the yellow eyes, making them once again beautiful and fascinating -with their old charm. She placed her two powerful little hands on his -shoulders, and seemed to gaze down into his very soul.</p> - -<p>“My dear boy, I believe you are sincere. You are as good as you look, -and that is saying much. A tired old woman thanks you with all her -heart, but it is too late. Some demon fixed himself in that old woman’s -head when she was born, and never could manage to find its way out ever -since.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph was on the point of protesting, when the door opened, and a -woman in black, followed by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> young girl entered. The Natzelhuber -wheeled round brusquely, and demanded:</p> - -<p>“Who are you, madame? and what brings you here, pray?”</p> - -<p>The woman, who was stout and hot, stared anxiously, gasped, clutched -in vain at her scattered ideas, and murmured something relative to the -great honour the illustrious Mademoiselle Natzelhuber had done her in -consenting to teach her daughter Andromache, the interview having been -arranged for to-day.</p> - -<p>“All very well. But that does not explain how you came to enter my room -unannounced,” cried the pianiste.</p> - -<p>“Your servant sent us up, madame.”</p> - -<p>“Polyxena!” roared the Natzelhuber, holding the door open.</p> - -<p>Rudolph, ready to sink with shame at the unpleasantness of his -position, and eager to beat a hasty retreat, happened to look at the -girl who was staring from the stormy musician to him with large dark -blue eyes, dark fringed, and full of beseeching anxiety and fright. She -was a very pretty girl of somewhat exotic type: olive tints, blue-black -hair, with a thin, sedately arranged row of curls upon the forehead. -A face of meagre intelligence, without a shade of those subtle and -tremulous surprises, that delicate eloquence of opening sensibilities -and wonder, that make up so much of girlish beauty in northern races. -But Andromache was very touching in that moment of perplexity and -humiliation, and having looked at her once, Rudolph felt constrained to -look again—which he did willingly enough, though he blushed scarlet at -his own audacity. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Polyxena, who the devil gave you leave to send me strangers when I am -engaged?”</p> - -<p>“How was I to know you were engaged? Haven’t I my work to do without -looking after your danglers? Do you think I’m going to walk up here -every time your bell rings to find out what I am to say? Ah, then, -and upon my word, you’d have first to go into treaty with my Maker to -fashion me another pair of legs,” retorted Polyxena, turning on her -heel.</p> - -<p>“That is the way she always answers me,” said the Natzelhuber, smiling. -“But I am fond of servants. They are the only part of humanity that has -retained a bit of originality or naturalness. When she is in a good -humour that girl delights me with the extraordinary things she says,” -she remarked to Rudolph. “So, madame, this is the young woman you want -me to turn into an artiste,” she exclaimed, menacingly, standing before -the trembling Andromache with her hands joined behind her.</p> - -<p>After a long scrutiny, she thrust up her chin, and muttered:</p> - -<p>“Pouf! she doesn’t look very bright.”</p> - -<p>“Everybody says she is very clever, mademoiselle,” the girl’s mother -ventured to plead humbly, “and she plays really well.”</p> - -<p>“Who is ‘everybody’? half a dozen brutes of Athenians who couldn’t tell -you the difference between C major and F sharp. If you have come here -to cite me the opinion of that distinguished and discriminating critic, -Everybody, madame, instead of waiting to hear mine, you and your -daughter may go about your business, and see what your Everybody will -do for you.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> - -<p>Rudolph made a movement towards the door, hoping to escape unnoticed, -but the Natzelhuber, having had enough of her last visitors, detained -him with an invitation to smoke a cigarette, and drink a glass of -brandy.</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t you like me to play you something?”</p> - -<p>“Not to-day, thanks. Another time. It’s just breakfast time,” he said -hurriedly.</p> - -<p>She turned her back on him without another word, and opening the piano, -pointed to Andromache to sit down before it. The girl’s hands shook as -she removed her gloves, and Rudolph, going downstairs, could hear how -unsteady and timid were the first notes that she played.</p> - -<p>“Weber’s ‘Invitation à la Danse.’ She will surely fly into another rage -when she hears that,” he thought. “But I do wish she would be kind and -encouraging to the poor girl. Such pretty eyes as she has! I have never -seen prettier. Just like the March violets in Rapoldenkirchen that I -used to gather for my mother.”</p> - -<p>In the meantime the frightened owner of these eyes like the March -violets of Rapoldenkirchen was passing through the worst moment of her -existence. Two bars of the “Invitation” served to bring down the wrath -of artistic majesty on her head, and very nearly on her hands.</p> - -<p>“What do you call that?”</p> - -<p>“Weber’s ‘Invitation,’” died away in the girl’s throat.</p> - -<p>“Weber’s ‘Rubbish,’ you idiot! It is as little like the ‘Invitation’ as -the music of my cats is like the ‘Funeral March.’ But you have a good -touch. Something may be made of you when you have learnt your scales, -and know how to sit before a piano. Seat low, thumb<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> covered, body -tranquil. Are you prepared to regard yourself as a beginner, with less -knowledge than a stammering infant—or do you still cherish the opinion -of ‘Everybody’ that you are very clever?”</p> - -<p>“I know very well that I am quite ignorant, and it is because I want to -learn that I have come to you,” Andromache said, with a simple dignity -that mollified the artist.</p> - -<p>“Well, I see you are not a fool like your respectable mother,” she -said. “Now go home and practice as many scales as you can for three or -four or even more hours a day, and come to me at the end of a week. -Hard work and slow results, remember.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV.</span> <span class="smaller">AN ATHENIAN HOUSEHOLD.</span></h2> - -<p>Among the many curious customs of the modern Athenians—at least those -unprovided with permanent tents—is their habit of changing residence -every first of September. When they go into each new house, they have -at last found their earthly paradise, which they at once begin to -maltreat in every possible way, until, by summer-time there is hardly -a clean spot left on any of the walls, a door left with a handle, a -cupboard with a lock, or a window with a fastening entire in its panes. -Then the earthly paradise, is described in terms as exaggeratedly -expressive of the reverse of comfort; the family look around for the -next September move, and a new home or flat is found with the same fate -awaiting it. The only rational way of accounting for this startling -custom, which would greatly disturb any reasonable person compelled to -follow it, is by supposing that the natives find something exciting and -morally or mentally beneficial in their annual migrations.</p> - -<p>In compliance with the law, Andromache’s mother, the previous -September, had moved from a flat on the second floor in Solon Stettore, -a ground floor flat with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> plenty of underground accommodation, in one -of the many yet unnamed streets that break from the foot of Lycabettus -like concentric rays to drop into the straight line of Solon Street, -and proceed on a wider and recognised course down among the larger -thoroughfares. These baby passages are rarely traversed by any but -those who enjoy the qualified happiness of living in them. There is -always a river of flowing water edging their entrance like a barrier, -which a lady with dainty boots would doubtless view with disapprobation -if she were asked to ford it upon an afternoon call. Children by the -hundred play about these streets—variously coloured children, ragged, -ugly, showing every condition but that of cleanliness and beauty, with -little twisted mouths and sharp black eyes that always seem to be -measuring in the spectator a possible foe; with coarse matted hair, -or shaven heads looking like nothing more than the skin of a mouse -worn as a skull cap, or dirty straw, bleached nearly white, hanging -about them in unapproachable wisps and understood to be fair hair. As -well as the householders, the infants, and running water, the streets -offer, as further attraction, the cries of the itinerant merchants, -who draw their carts up the dusty, unpaved little hills, and yell -out the contents of their store in a way only to be heard in burning -cities, where yelling, public and domestic, becomes an art, cultivated -with zeal, and heard with joy—by all but the nervous traveller. All -day long these vendors come and go, and the aforementioned happy -householders need only appear on their thresholds to buy stuffs, soap, -candles, sponges, carpets, etc.</p> - -<p>In the sweet spot Kyria Karapolos had pitched her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> tent with her -family, consisting of two sons, the eldest a dashing captain of the -Artillery, known in town as Captain Miltiades, understood to have no -relations, and to sleep on horseback, dine on gallantry and the recital -of his own prowess, and enjoy relaxation from equine exercise in the -ball-room. The second son, Themistocles, a dapper little fellow, had a -position in the Corinthian Bank, not very remunerative, but enabling -him to dress with what he considered Parisian taste, and walk Stadion -Street with two or three other fashionable youths, all equally gloved, -caned—and killing. He had a violin too, and disliking his family, -when constrained to remain at home, spent the time in his own room, -which looked out upon the sloping gardens of the French School, and -tortured the silence by irritating this poor instrument, deluded into -a fond belief that he was playing Gounod’s “Ave Maria” and Schubert’s -“Serenade.”</p> - -<p>He cherished a hopeless passion for a young lady in the next street -who had no fortune; neither had he, nor, what is worse in an aspiring -husband, any prospect of making one.</p> - -<p>A girl came next, Julia, of abnormal plainness of feature, considerably -heightened by a pimpled, sallow complexion and a furtive, untrustworthy -expression. Unlike the rest of her family, she had no special -qualification, but while the others enjoyed every kind of discomfort, -her fortune was pleasantly counted into the Corinthian Bank, to be -taken out the day a husband should present himself for her and for it, -especially for it. In this land of dowered maidens young gentlemen of -expensive tastes and empty purses find it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>feasible and honourable -to incur debts on the understanding that they will be paid out of -somebody’s dowry by and by. Personal looks or qualities are secondary -questions, so the absence of attractions in Julia did not weigh in the -eyes of her brother and mother in their anxiety to marry her.</p> - -<p>The youngest was Andromache, as pretty as Julia was plain, resembling -her brother, the redoubtable Captain Miltiades; a sweet girl, too, -if suggestive of the unvarying sweetness which is another word for -feebleness of character—fond of music, and showing some ability in -that direction, never taking part in the family quarrels which were -always raging at the table and elsewhere between the rest. But she had -the tastes of the woman of warm latitudes. In the house she was rarely -fit to be seen,—and she had a passion for powder, unguents and strong -perfumes. She was a tolerably efficient housekeeper, and generally -spent her mornings in the kitchen, superintending and helping Maria, -the maid of all work, who had enough in all conscience to do to keep -Captain Miltiades in clean shirts.</p> - -<p>Captain Miltiades was not only the hero of his domestic circle, but -the hero of all Greece—or so he believed, which comes to the same -thing; the boldest soldier, the mightiest captain, the best horseman -and dancer, and, crown in romantic imaginations, the most impecunious -ornament of Athenian society. His fierce and military moustache and -bronzed cheek awed beholders, and his noble brow merging into a bald -crown gently fringed with short black hair, which made a thin line -above his black military coat and crimson velvet collar, seemed to hold -the concentrated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> wisdom of ages. But gallant and youthful was the -spirit of Captain Miltiades—amatory, too, as behoves a son of Mars. -“One may be bald and not old for that,” said his flashing dark-blue eye -whenever a maiden’s thoughtful glance rested on the discrowned region. -His French left much to be desired, and of other European languages -he knew nothing. But then scientific was his knowledge of the gay -cotillon, entrancing his movement in the waltz and mazurka; at least -the young ladies of Athens thought so. However, be it known to all who -care to learn noteworthy facts, Captain Miltiades was an authority on -these important subjects; a kind of dancing Master of Ceremonies at -the Palace, where he danced with royal partners and was amazingly in -demand. But, sad to relate, nobody dreamed of falling in love with him, -in spite of his military prowess and carpet-pirouetting. The ladies -regarded him as a kind of amiable harlequin, and his presence and -warm declarations only excited a smile on the lips of the weakest. Of -course he sighed and dangled after every <i>dot</i>, but sighed in vain, for -neither his fierce moustache nor his dark blue eyes have brought him -somebody’s one figure and countless noughts of francs.</p> - -<p>It was twelve o’clock, and Captain Miltiades might be heard galloping -up the unpaved street, looking as if nothing short of a miracle could -bring horse or rider to stop before they reached the overhanging point -of Lycabettus. The miracle was accomplished without flinging the -gallant Captain headforemost into the dust or into the nearest flowing -stream, and the Captain’s military servant, Theodore, emerged from -the side entrance to carry off the panting war-horse, and refresh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> -its foaming flanks with the stable brush, while the warrior, with -stern brow and dissatisfied lips under the nodding red plumes of his -cap—this modern Achilles always appeared in a white heat of suppressed -anger in the domestic circle—rapped at the glass door which Julia -opened.</p> - -<p>“Where is Maria?” asked Captain Miltiades.</p> - -<p>“In the kitchen, of course, cooking the breakfast.”</p> - -<p>“Maria! Maria!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” cried the unfortunate servant, rushing from the steaming -<i>pilaf</i> she was preparing, and showing a spacious bosom hardly -restrained within the compass of the strained and long since colourless -cloth that untidily covered it, and a ragged skirt, and fuzzy black -hair that she found as much difficulty in keeping out of the soup as -out of her own coal-black eyes—only far greater effort was made to -accomplish the latter feat.</p> - -<p>“Maria, the balls are commencing, and I shall be going out regularly; -you must have two clean shirts for me every day. Do you hear?”</p> - -<p>“And how on earth do you think, Captain, I am to get through my work? -Two shirts a day indeed! And the same for Mr. Themistocles, I suppose. -Four bedrooms to see to, cooking, washing for five persons: and one -poor girl to do it all for twenty-five francs a month. You may look for -another servant.”</p> - -<p>“Get away, or I’ll wring your ear, Maria. You have Theodore to help you -in the kitchen, and you know that both my mother and Andromache help -you in the housework.”</p> - -<p>“Wonderful, indeed! It only wants every one in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> house to sit down -and do nothing, and the young ladies to ask me to starch them two white -petticoats apiece every day. Ah, animals, pigs, the whole of you,” she -added as she retired to the kitchen, and the gallant Captain to his -chamber.</p> - -<p>Another masculine entrance, and this time the thin piping voice of -little Themistocles was heard, calling on the unhappy maid of all work.</p> - -<p>“What does this fool want now?” roared the infuriated Maria, appearing -in the corridor with a large spoon which she brandished menacingly.</p> - -<p>“I am going out this evening, Maria, and I want a second clean shirt,” -said Themistocles, thrusting his head out of his room.</p> - -<p>“A second clean shirt! Oh, of course. What else? Don’t you think, sir, -you might find something more for me to do? I have so very little to do -that it would really be a kindness to keep an idle girl in work. Clean -shirts for Miltiades, clean shirts for Themistocles. ’Pon my word, it -is poor Maria herself who wants clean shirts—and she has not even time -to wash her face!”</p> - -<p>“Really, it is absurd the trouble you men give in a house,” cried Julia -over her embroidery in the hall. “You seem to think there are no limits -to what a servant is to be asked to do.”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue, Julia, and speak more respectfully of your -brothers,” retorted little Themistocles.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by quarrelling with your sister, you -whipper-snapper?” cried Miltiades, combing his moustache, as he came -out of his room to join in the fray. “Another impertinent word to -Julia, and it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> would not take much to make me kick you out into the -street.”</p> - -<p>One word from the head of the house, as Captain Miltiades was called, -full twenty years his senior, was enough to silence Themistocles, who -retired into his room, and proceeded to make a careful study of the -libretto of “La Princesse des Canaries.”</p> - -<p>The third tap that morning at the glass door of the street, announcing -the return of Andromache and her mother, was the cheerful herald of -breakfast. Everybody was seated at table, wearing a more or less -bellicose air, while Theodore, looking as correct and rigid as an -ill-fitting military undress would permit, served out the <i>pilaf</i> when -Andromache and Kyria Karapolos entered the dining-room.</p> - -<p>Andromache took her seat in silence beside Julia, and slowly unfolded -her napkin with an absent air, and her mother at the head of the table -began to puff and pant and violently fan herself.</p> - -<p>“Pooh! pooh! pooh! what a woman! I thought she would eat poor -Andromache.”</p> - -<p>“The music-woman,” remarked Captain Miltiades, indistinctly, through a -mouthful of <i>pilaf</i>.</p> - -<p>“A savage, Miltiades. She has a servant just like herself, who received -us as if we were beggars, and told us to go upstairs and look for the -Natzelhuber ourselves. And when we went up, there was a nice-looking -young gentleman with her, a foreigner, fair, I should say an Englishman -or a Russian—what country do you think he comes from, Andromache?”</p> - -<p>“Who, mamma?” asked Andromache, coming down from the clouds. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That fair young man we saw at Natzelhuber’s.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, I did not pay much attention to him,” Andromache -replied; and turned her eyes to the dish of roast meat Theodore was -placing on the table.</p> - -<p>“Well, this young man, as I said, was with her, and when we entered the -room, I assure you she all but ordered us out again.”</p> - -<p>“And why did you not go away?” demanded the Captain, hotly. “You are -always getting yourself insulted for want of proper spirit.”</p> - -<p>“You are just like your father, ever ready to fly into a rage for -nothing,” protested Kyria Karapolos, sulkily. “If one followed your -advice, there would be nothing but quarrelling in the world. By acting -civilly I have been able to beat down the Natzelhuber’s terms very much -below my expectations. When I asked her what she charged a lesson, I -nearly fainted at her answer. Thirty francs! However, when I expressed -our position, and how absolutely impossible it would be for us to -pay more than ten, she consented to receive Andromache as a pupil on -those terms. But whenever I spoke she snubbed me in the most violent -manner,—called me an old fool.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you gave her cause,” sneered Themistocles, who felt bitter -towards his mother, regarding her as his natural enemy since she -had warned the mother of the young lady in the next street of his -pennilessness, a warning which served to close the doors of that -paradise forever to him.</p> - -<p>“How dare you, sir, speak in such a way to your mother?” thundered the -irate Captain, always ready<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> to pounce on the small bank-clerk, whom he -despised very cordially. “I told you to-day that it would not take much -to make me kick you into the street. Another offensive word, and see!”</p> - -<p>This ebullition quenched all further family expansion round the -breakfast-table. The girls hurried through the meal in silence, keeping -their eyes resolutely fixed on their plate. One man glowered, and the -other sulked in offended dignity, rising hurriedly the instant Theodore -appeared with two small cups of Turkish coffee for Kyria Karapolos -and the Captain. In another instant the street door was heard to bang -behind Themistocles, who, with his slim cane, his yellow gloves, and -minute waist, had gone down to indulge in a clerkly saunter as far as -Constitution Place, and unbosom his harassed and manly soul to two -other minute confidants previous to turning into the Corinthian Bank.</p> - -<p>After his coffee, the Captain went back to his barracks beyond the -Palace, and Andromache sat down to practice her scales on a cracked -piano in the little salon, with a view of the rugged steepness of -Lycabettus and the trellised gardens of the French School through -the long window. It was a pretty little room, with some excellent -specimens of Greek art and Byzantine embroidery, foolish Byzantine -saints, in gilt frames, with an artificial vacuity of gaze, the -artistic achievements of the rival Athenian photographers, Romaïdes and -Moraïtes, views of the Parthenon and the Temple of Jupiter, a bomb that -had exploded at the very feet of Captain Miltiades in the late outbreak -at Larissa, upon which memorable occasion he had gallantly mangled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> the -bodies of five thousand Turks and scattered their armies in shame. This -valuable piece of historic information I insert for the special benefit -of those who may presume to question the direct succession of this -mighty Captain from the much admired warriors of Homer. In olden days -Captain Miltiades’ glory would have quite outshone that of his puny -namesake; as a complete hero, upon his own description, he would have -occupied the niche of fame with Hercules and Theseus.</p> - -<p>Necessarily there was the sofa, the Greek seat of honour, upon which -all distinguished visitors are at once installed, this law, like that -of the Medes and Persians, knowing no change. Also sundry tables -decorated with albums and the school prizes of the young ladies, the -bank-clerk, and the Captain of the Artillery. All the chairs were -covered with white dimity, and the floor was polished with bees’ wax, -which gave the room an aspect of chill neatness.</p> - -<p>Andromache was interrupted in a conscientious study of scales by the -entrance of her mother and Julia, and the former’s irrelevant question:</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think that young man was English, Andromache?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, mother, possibly,” was Andromache’s impatient answer, -for, though it grieves me to unveil the secret workings of a maiden’s -mind, I must perforce confess that the student was thinking just then -of Rudolph’s kind and sympathetic glance.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you stop that horrible noise and describe him?” said Julia. “You -know I always want to hear about foreigners.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He was fair and tall and handsome, with very kind blue eyes, light, -not dark like those of Miltiades—there, that’s all I can say about -him,” said Andromache, rising, and standing at the window to stare -across at the gardens of the French School.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V.</span> <span class="smaller">HOW GUSTAV REINEKE MISSED MADAME JAROVISKY’S BALL.</span></h2> - -<p>The illustrious Dr. Galenides had just seated himself at his desk to -write a note to his no less illustrious colleague, Dr. Melanos, while -his hat and gloves on the study table and his carriage outside were -testimony of a contemplated professional drive. The study door was -suddenly opened with what Dr. Galenides regarded as undue familiarity, -and looking up sharply, prepared to administer the deserved rebuke, the -learned physician recognised in the intruder an old friend and brother -in profession. The new-comer, a rough, provincial-looking Hercules, was -Dr. Selaka of Tenos, a member of his Majesty’s parliament, called for -some unaccountable reason, “The King of Tenos.” Instead of a rebuke, -Dr. Galenides administered an effusive embrace, and clasped this -insular majesty to his capacious bosom.</p> - -<p>“What a splendid surprise, my dear Constantine!” he cried, when he had -kissed both Selaka’s bronzed cheeks. “When did you come to Athens?”</p> - -<p>“Last night. I have come to oppose two new measures of the Minister. -Have you read his speech on the Budget?”</p> - -<p>“Of course. I thought it displayed great <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>moderation and sagacity. -There’s a statesman if you will, Constantine.”</p> - -<p>“May the devil sit upon his moustache for an English humbug! England -here, England there! Ouf! But wait until he has me to tackle him.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll lead him a dance, I’ve no doubt,” laughed Galenides. “But how -are all the family?”</p> - -<p>“Very well. My niece Inarime is growing more beautiful every day. All -the islanders are in love with her. A queer old dog is Pericles. He has -brought that girl up in the maddest fashion. Nothing but ancient Greek -and that sort of thing, and he has made up his mind she will marry a -foreign archæologist, or die an old maid.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I always thought him unpractical and foolish, but I tremendously -respect his learning. Why doesn’t he bring the girl to Athens, if he -won’t marry her to a Teniote?”</p> - -<p>“Well, he talks vaguely of some such intention. You are going out, I -see.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and that reminds me, Selaka. I was just writing a line to -Melanos, but you’ll do just as well. There is a foreigner sick in the -Hôtel de la Grande Bretagne who has sent for me. Could you go round and -look at him? I haven’t a spare moment to-day. If I am absolutely wanted -for a consultation, of course, I’ll endeavour to attend.”</p> - -<p>Selaka consented with alacrity, and the friends parted with cordiality -at the door, one to seat himself in a comfortable carriage, and be -rolled swiftly to the Queen’s Hospital in the new quarter of Athens, -the Teniote to walk to the Hôtel de la Grande Bretagne, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> little -above Constitution Square, overlooking the orange trees and fountains -in front of the Royal Palace. He was delighted with the prospect of -meeting a distinguished foreigner, distinction proclaimed in the choice -of hotel, and he would profit by the occasion to discuss the politics -of Bismarck with this M. Reineke.</p> - -<p>The waiters favoured him with that insolent reception usually bestowed -by waiters of distinguished hotels upon foot and provincial-looking -arrivals. But the mention of the illustrious Dr. Galenides cleared -the haughty brow of Demosthenes; and when Selaka furthermore stated -that that great personage had sent him to feel the pulse of the sick -foreigner, Demosthenes condescended to call to Socrates, a lesser -luminary among the hotel officials, and signified to his satellite that -Dr. Selaka might be conducted to M. Reineke’s chamber.</p> - -<p>Selaka found his patient, a young man of about twenty-eight, lying on -a sofa, wrapped in a silk dressing-gown, with an elegant travelling -rug thrown across his feet. Selaka’s keen glance rested in amazement -on a delicate Eastern head, long grave eyes of the unfathomable and -colourless shade of water flowing over dark tones, with a very noble -and intense look in them, a high smooth brow that strengthened this -expression of nobility, and finely-cut lips seen through the waves of -dark beard and moustache as benign as a sage’s. It was a thoughtful, -spiritual face, serene in its strength, unimpassioned in its -kindliness—the face of a student and a gentleman.</p> - -<p>“I should never take you to be a German, M. Reineke,” said Selaka, -after their first greeting, seating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> himself beside the sofa, and -taking the sick man’s supple fingers into his.</p> - -<p>“No one does,” said Reineke, in such pure French as to put to shame -Selaka’s grotesque accent. His voice was musical and low, with a -softness of tone in harmony with his peculiar beauty, and fever gave it -a ring of weariness.</p> - -<p>“Are you going to order me quinine, doctor?”</p> - -<p>“Why, naturally. How else would you break a fever?”</p> - -<p>“But I cannot take it, doctor. It disagrees with me.”</p> - -<p>“That is a pity. Four doses taken in four hours cut the worst fever, -and set a man on his feet in a day.”</p> - -<p>“Some constitutions can bear it, I suppose. But I nearly died after -quinine treatment in Egypt. My head has not ceased going round ever -since.”</p> - -<p>“Your temperature is over a hundred, and you refuse to take quinine! -Then there is nothing for you but to linger on in this state. Low diet -and repose—that is all I can prescribe.”</p> - -<p>Left alone, the sick man closed his eyes wearily and turned to sleep, -out of which he was shaken by a knock at the door, and the head of an -Englishman thrust itself inside.</p> - -<p>“Can I come in, Mr. Reineke?”</p> - -<p>“Pray do, Mr. Warren,” said Reineke, smiling agreeably. “It is kind -of you to find time to visit a sick wretch amid all your <i>fêtes</i> and -sight-seeing.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that is a real pleasure. Only I am so sorry to see you cut up like -this and losing all the fun. It was awfully jolly at the Von Hohenfels’ -last week. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> was an outrageous lioness there. For the life of me I -could not catch her name. The governor wants to secure her for London. -By Jove! what a tartar! She nearly ate the French viscount up in a -bite.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I heard about it, but she is a very distinguished artist, I -believe. You’ve been to Sunium since?”</p> - -<p>“Came back to-day for the Jaroviskys’ ball. What a jolly people these -Greeks are! The entire country seems at our disposal. Special trains, -special boats and guides. Oh, we had an awfully good time, I tell you: -inspected the Laurion mines, and looked awfully wise about them and -everything else. But surely you’ll be able to go to the Jaroviskys’ -to-morrow? What did the doctor say?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing wise—a doctor never does.”</p> - -<p>“Look here, old fellow, we can’t leave you here while we are dancing -and flirting with the pretty Athenians.”</p> - -<p>“If the pretty Athenians guessed my nationality, they would not be very -eager to have me dance and flirt with them.”</p> - -<p>“Then the governor was right? You are not a German?”</p> - -<p>“No, I am a Turk. I have lived a good deal in Germany, so I adopted a -Teuton name upon coming to Greece to avoid disagreeable associations -for the natives. It is very comfortable. I was bored in Paris by the -way people stared at me, and whispered openly about me when they heard -my Turkish name, so I mean not to resume it. If I played the piano, the -ladies fell into ecstatic wonder.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, we are accustomed to the old-fashioned Turk, cross-legged, on -a pile of cushions, in flowing garb and turban, smoking a narghile, -with a lovely Fatima or two by his side, and exclaiming frequently in -sepulchral tones, ‘Allah be praised!’ It will doubtless take us some -time to grow used to the newer picture presented by you.”</p> - -<p>“Is it not aggravating to be kept here in a darkened room, while near -me are ruined porticoes and columns, where once my people built their -Moslem forts and turrets, and the voice of the muezzin broke the -lone silence after the Pagan days? There is not even a glimpse from -my window of that mass of broken pillars that stood out so plainly -against the sky when we entered the Piraeus. I feel like a child -waiting for the play, when suddenly comes a hitch which keeps the -curtain down. I want to walk with the poets and philosophers, read -Plato in the groves of the Academe, stand with Œdipus and Antigone at -Colonneus, and look towards the towers and temples of Athens, walk -with Pericles and Phidias through the marbles of the Acropolis, with -none but the voices of glorious spirits to break the silence of the -universe,—those spirits who have burned into history the clear gold of -their unapproachable intellects, seeing with eyes that have served for -centuries, feeling with hearts that have beaten for all time, speaking -with lips upon which the noblest words are everlastingly carven.”</p> - -<p>“Gad, I see you are an enthusiast like our friend, Miss Winters, who -goes into fits when we inform her of some fresh rascality on the part -of the modern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> Greeks,” cried young Warren, marvelling to hear a Turk -talk in this fashion.</p> - -<p>“She is a charming old lady, and you youngsters downstairs should not -quiz her as you do. She engaged, if I were better, to carry me with -her on Sunday to read Paul’s sermon to the men of Athens on the hill -of Mars aloud. I have since been informed that it is customary for -the Athenians to take their Sunday airing along the foot of the hill -of Mars. Fancy the sensation we should have created, standing in a -respectful attitude beside the little American lady, piously reading -aloud the words of St. Paul.”</p> - -<p>Reineke laughed softly, while young Warren exploded in a burst of loud -merriment.</p> - -<p>“Do you know, when she discovered that the ruffian of a head-waiter -is called Demosthenes, she looked so horribly like embracing him, -that, seriously alarmed, I exclaimed, ‘Madam, I beseech you, pause in -your rash career.’ I don’t think she quite realised the extent of my -service, for she very nearly quarrelled with me when I mentioned that -Demosthenes is in the habit of defrauding our poor Jehus of at least -half their profits.”</p> - -<p>“Amiable enthusiast! But don’t class me with her. I have no illusions -about the modern Greeks. I have seen in the East how they take -advantage of our good-nature and our dislike to trade. I know them to -cheat and bargain and deceive, and grow fat upon the kindness of those -who trust them. But what have they in common with the ancients? They -have not the intellect, the unerring taste, the exquisite restraint of -language and bearing, the sunny gravity of temperament,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> the simplicity -and keen love of the beautiful. If they were really the descendants of -the old race, there would be some signs whereby we should recognise -their glorious heritage.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. Perhaps, if we knew the opinion held by the Persians and -the barbarians of the old Hellenes—it would be probably very different -from their own.”</p> - -<p>“We don’t need any opinion with the works they have left. Such -eloquence as that is incontrovertible, and in the face of it, their -representatives to-day are as much out of place here as were the -Franks, the Italians and the Turks. It was a desecration to have built -on these immortal shores a nation sprung from slavery and the refuse -of the Middle Ages—without tradition or any right to believe in its -own destiny. What do they care for? Money, trade! They have no real -reverence for knowledge, except that it helps in the acquirement of -wealth and power. You will find no Greek ready to consecrate his days, -aye, and his nights, to the disinterested dispersion of the clouds -of ignorance by as much as a rushlight of knowledge, capable of the -unglorified, untrumpeted, unrecognised patience and labour of the -scholar. Nor would he willingly choose poverty and obscurity that he -might live the life of the spirit.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I am afraid there are not many of us who would,” said Warren, -good-naturedly. “And these people have their virtues. They are sober -and moral.”</p> - -<p>“They are indeed, and they are not cruel to their children or their -wives, but they make up for the omission by horrible cruelty to -animals. They frequently amuse themselves by tying a barrel of -petroleum to the tails of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> a couple of dogs, and firing it, for the -delicate pleasure of gloating over the death agonies of the poor -brutes.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens! What awful savages! But do you know, Mr. Reineke, it -would be a just punishment for your ill opinion of them if you fell in -love with a Greek. ’Pon my word, there are some very pretty girls here.”</p> - -<p>“It is possible. But mere beauty has no attraction for me. I have -seen lovely women in the East, indolent, unthinking beings, whom I -couldn’t respect. I would sooner have a wicked woman who had elements -of greatness in her than a virtuous one who had none. Aspasia I should -have adored. It is because the women we mostly meet are so insipid that -I have never thought to fill my life with the consuming excitement of -love. I should feel ashamed and grieved to place my manhood under the -feet of a mere household pet, or a drawing-room ornament, a fluttering, -flounced marionette with the soul in her eyes gone astray, her lips -twisted out of the lovely sensibility of womanhood by senseless chatter -and laughter far sadder than tears. To see so many exquisite creatures -meant to be worshipped by us, and only ridiculed, meant to guide and -ennoble us, and preferring degradation; the purity of maidenly eyes -lost in the vilest audacity of gaze, and the high post of spiritual -guardians of the world bartered for unworthy conquests.”</p> - -<p>“How cold-blooded to be able to furnish all these excellent reasons -for not making a fool of yourself! Well, may we hope to see you at the -Jaroviskys’?”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid not. But pray, come and tell me how you have enjoyed -yourself when you have a moment to spare.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And shall I give your love to Miss Winters?”</p> - -<p>“Hardly that, but present her with my most distinguished compliments, -if that is good English.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Selaka that evening found Reineke more feverish, and although he -was not anxious to lose sight of his patient, he seriously advised a -sea voyage as the only adequate substitution for quinine.</p> - -<p>He was greatly interested in this handsome stranger with the dark -beard and romantic intensity of gaze, and speculated wildly on his -nationality and circumstances as he walked from the hotel. He thought -he might be a Spaniard, until, remembering the late Spanish Minister, -who could not pay his passage back to Spain, and only got as far as -Corfu by selling all the clothes and furniture he had never paid for, -he decided that the Spaniards were a miserable race. The Italians, -he thought, were not much better, and Reineke as little resembled a -Frenchman as he did a German.</p> - -<p>“You might go to Poros,” he said to Gustav. “It is a pretty place, and -the trip would do you good.”</p> - -<p>“Why not one of the Ægean Islands?” suggested Gustav.</p> - -<p>“Certainly. There is Tenos. I live there myself, and I have a brother -whom you could stay with for a day or two.”</p> - -<p>Selaka coloured with a sudden astonishing thought. This stranger was -rich, perhaps unmarried. He might fall in love with Inarime. Now he was -bent on urging the trip to Tenos, before undreamed of. “I’ll telegraph -to my brother, and you can travel in the <i>Sphacteria</i>. The captain is -my godson.”</p> - -<p>“You are very kind, doctor, and I am ashamed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> accept such favours -from you,” said Reineke, truthfully, in surprised assent.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is a pleasure. We Greeks love to see strangers.”</p> - -<p>“Then I will go to-morrow. I want to get well as soon as possible, for -I have much to do here,” said Reineke.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI.</span> <span class="smaller">A FIGHT IN THE CAMP OF HELLAS.</span></h2> - -<p>Crossing Constitution Square the king of Tenos was hilariously -accosted by one of his satellites, a member of the Opposition and -a lawyer of parchment exterior, whose career had been varied as it -was unremunerative. Starting in life as domestic servant, he had -found leisure to attend the University, and buy legal books with his -perquisites. His stern profession by no means impeded the unsuccessful -editorship of several newspapers—comic, political and satirical, each -of which enjoyed a kind of ephemeral reputation and lasted about six -months, leaving the venturous editor with a lighter pocket, and now he -was Selaka’s colleague in obstruction.</p> - -<p>“This is the best answer to my telegram, Constantine,” said Stavros. -“What a day we’ll have of it in the Boulé<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" >[A]</a>—eh?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, ay, the Budget Speech. Leave it to me, Stavros. We’ll egg them on -to an explosion. Keep to the caricatures. Collars and cuffs Minister! -Ouf! Have you been pumping our friends about the Mayoralty?”</p> - -<p>“Trust me. Our side is for you to a man. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> party for Oïdas is -strong, I admit, and wealth is in his favour, but I think we shall be -able to pull you through.”</p> - -<p>“If only! Listen Stavros, if I get in as Mayor, I’ll make you a present -of a thousand francs, and I’ll secure your son the first vacant place -in the University. I know your power,” he added, slyly.</p> - -<p>The man of documents swelled with a sense of his own importance. Of -that he had no doubt. The ministry depended on the state of his temper, -which was uncertain, and the Lord be praised, what is a man if he has -not his influence at the beck and call of his friends?</p> - -<p>“Oïdas has spent a lot of money on the town,” he hinted.</p> - -<p>“That is so. He is enormously rich, and takes care to advertise that -fact,” Dr. Selaka replied.</p> - -<p>“Well, we must spend money too,—in some cases we can only seem to -spend it, and it will come to the same thing, my friend. But I’m -hopeful, Constantine. You started on good lines. The swiftest path to -celebrity is opposition, and you have never done anything else but -oppose. It is a fine career, man, and gives you a decided superiority -over the humble and compliant. The man who opposes need never trouble -himself for reasons. His vote on the introduction of a measure is -sufficient to insure him importance.”</p> - -<p>“If obstruction be a merit, I have been obstructing these ten years, -and the Mayoralty of Athens seems rather a modest claim upon such a -display of superiority,” said Dr. Selaka, quite seriously.</p> - -<p>The lawyer’s humour was profoundly tickled. The follies of the weak and -foolish were a source of infinite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> amusement to him. It was he who had -urged the Teniote to the coming ambitious contest, not that he in the -least contemplated success, but he understood that with a wiser man to -lead, his part would be a much less exciting one.</p> - -<p>“We are the <i>Parnellistoi</i> of Greece, Constantine,” he said, with an -air of ponderous assertion. “We may be beaten, but our hour of triumph -is only retarded.”</p> - -<p>He conscientiously consulted his watch, and then added, as an -afterthought:</p> - -<p>“You will need a larger house, Constantine.”</p> - -<p>“I have thought of that, and have been inquiring about the expenses of -building. I have a spot in view near the new Hospital. It will be a -heavy item added to my election expenses, but my brother Pericles will -come to my assistance, I make no doubt.”</p> - -<p>“Why does he not come here himself, and establish his family? The man -is insane to bury himself in Tenos.”</p> - -<p>“With as handsome a daughter as ever the eyes of man fell upon,” -interrupted the doctor, angrily.</p> - -<p>“My faith! you must bring him to Athens. A handsome niece well dowered -will be a feather in your cap. Play her off against Oïdas, and you’ll -have the men on your side.”</p> - -<p>“Pouf! Use a woman in politics! But if Pericles will let me look out -for a son-in-law for him, something might be done in that way.”</p> - -<p>“Why not? There are Mingros and Palle, both rich men. With either of -them for a nephew you might aspire to be prime minister.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know Pericles. He is a confounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> idiot. Nothing but -learning will go down with him. Death before dishonour. Modern Athens -represents dishonour to him, because it presumes to prefer other things -to the very respectable ancients. If he came to Athens, like Jarovisky, -he would expect Inarime to fix her eyes permanently on the Acropolis, -with intervals for recognition of the Theseium and minor points -of antiquity. I foresee her end. He’ll marry her to some wretched -twopenny-halfpenny archæologist, who will barely be able to pay the -rent of a flat in some shabby street, and the wages of a maid of all -work.”</p> - -<p>“We must avert her doom, Constantine. Have her up to town, and bring -her some night to the theatre when the King is expected to attend. The -young men will stare at her from the stalls, and I’ll have an elegant -verse upon her in the ‘New Aristophanes.’”</p> - -<p>This proposition brought them to the Boulé in Stadion Street. The Prime -Minister’s carriage was outside, and along the railing a row of loafers -reclined, discussing each member as he passed in, and the space inside -the gates was strewn with soldiers and civilians of every grade. The -sharp swarthy faces lit up with eager recognition when Dr. Selaka and -Stavros entered the gate, and familiar and jocose greetings were flung -casually at them from the crowd.</p> - -<p>“Glad to see you have a new coat, Constantine,” one urchin roared after -Selaka, and sent his admirers into fits of laughter.</p> - -<p>With the dignity of demeanour it behoved a mayor-elect to assume, -Selaka coldly ignored the jibes and jokes of the loafers, touched his -hat to his acquaintances and ascended the steps of the Chamber with -weighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> prophecy of obstruction upon his brow. The interior of the -Chamber was a sight for the gods. The floor behind the president was -held by corner-boys, soldiers, peasants and beggars in common with the -representatives of King George’s Parliament. Deputies in fustanella and -embroidered jacket showed pictorially against the less imposing apparel -of civilization, and addressed the president at their ease, frequently -not condescending to stand, but lounged back in their seats, and merely -arrested his attention with an authoritative hand. The proceedings -could be watched upstairs from a gallery of boxes, and a very amusing -and lively half-hour might thus be spent. The stage below was filled -with grown-up children, who fought and wrangled, exchanged amenities -and breathless personalities, and foolishly imagined they were ruling -the country. It is impossible to conjecture what a parliament of women -would be like, but we can safely predict that it could not well surpass -the average parliament of men in the futile chatter, squabbling and -display of ill-temper.</p> - -<p>Dr. Selaka took his seat in a leisurely manner, under the minister’s -eye, on the front seat, and listened, with a protruded underlip and -the look of sagacity on the alert. Stavros sat back, extending his -arms behind the backs of his neighbors, and wore an expression of -ostentatious amusement befitting the editor of a satirical newspaper.</p> - -<p>The unlucky minister hazarded a loose statement, which gave Dr. Selaka -his opportunity. He was on his legs, with two spots of excited red -staining his sallow cheeks under the eyes, and opened a vehement fire -of epithet and expostulation. The minister retorted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> and Stavros, -seated where he was, just held out a cool protesting finger, and cried: -“You lie.”</p> - -<p>The English Cabinet Minister was sitting upstairs in the box set apart -for the diplomatic corps, and on this statement being translated to -him, he leant forward and focussed the lawyer with his impertinent -eyeglass. This was a species of parliamentary frankness with which he -was not familiar, used as he was to having his veracity challenged in a -variety of forms. As a novelty it was worth observing—especially the -attitude of the minister thus given “the lie direct.”</p> - -<p>The president tapped the table and called for order, which was -naturally the signal for boisterous disorder. The premier sat down -amidst a torrent of words, and the Minister of Foreign Affairs rose to -fight his battle as chief lieutenant. The storm raged to the pitch of -universal howls, and when at last there was a momentary lull in the -atmosphere, exasperated by the abuse of which he had been the free -recipient, Stavros jumped up, and flashing threateningly upon the -Minister of Foreign Affairs, roared out:—</p> - -<p>“It well becomes you to abuse me. You live in a fine house now, and -keep your carriage, but for all that, I can remember the time when you -were glad to wear my old clothes.”</p> - -<p>Dead silence greeted this retort, and a grim smile relaxed the grave -faces of the members. No personality is too gross to tickle this most -democratic race, and anything that levels the proud man delights them. -The Right Honourable Samuel Warren, M. P., upstairs, decided to take -the light of his illustrious presence from such a shocking scene, -wavered, and remembering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> mythology, bethought himself of the laughter -of the gods. He was abroad in the pursuit of knowledge, and this was -certainly experience.</p> - -<p>Stavros was frantically adjured to withdraw and apologise, and as -frantically refused to do any such thing. His colleague and imagined -leader stood up in his defence and the obstructionist became riotous -to the verge of hysterics, until the Right Honourable Samuel Warren, -looking down upon the spectacle from a safe distance, really believed -he had been dropped into Bedlam instead of Parliament. Uproar succeeded -angry protest in deafening succession; with the rapidity of thought -mere speech was rejected as inadequate to the occasion. The generals, -almost as numerous as soldiers, jumped upon their seats and brandished -their hats terrifically. The hapless president made his escape, leaving -the chair to one of the vice-presidents, and Constantine Selaka with an -agile bound cleared the space intervening between the members’ seats -and the tribune, installed himself therein, and shouted his intention -of keeping the Chamber sitting until the demands of his party were -complied with.</p> - -<p>“And would Kyrios Selaka be good enough to state categorically the -demands of his party?” the Prime Minister asked, standing to go, -holding his hat in his hand, with an officially negative look.</p> - -<p>This was a rash invitation. Selaka burst into an interminable, involved -and idiotic speech, which Stavros followed from his seat with one much -more involved and personal, and much less idiotic.</p> - -<p>Evening descended, the dinner-hour passed, and still the unfortunate -vice-president held the chair, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>exercised his authority by a -furious and inappropriate ringing of the bell, and calls for attention. -Exhausted and famished deputies dropped out of representative life -in search of animal food; others clamoured for cessation of the -strife, and pathetically referred to the solace of the domestic -circle. But Stavros and Selaka were adamant. The clamours of nature -were unheeded by them; when one shouted and orated, the other sought -comfort in cigarette and coffee. Night came, and found Selaka still -in the tribune, gloomy, ravenous, and resolute. Meanwhile Stavros had -refreshed himself with a snatch of food outside. He returned to the -charge while his leader shot into the corridors, and collared excited -and admiring attendants in the pursuit of food.</p> - -<p>“We are as good as the Parnellistoi over in London,” Selaka remarked, -and rubbed his hands with joy, as he and his friend walked home at the -end of the protracted sitting.</p> - -<p>“That is so, Constantine,” said Stavros, who dearly loved a row of any -sort, and who since he could not fight the European powers in person, -solaced himself by fighting a temporising president and a tame party. -“You’ll be mayor to a certainty.”</p> - -<p>“Mayor indeed!” ejaculated Constantine, keenly measuring his own sudden -charge for notoriety. “It’s minister at least I ought to be. I have -tackled them, Stavros, eh?”</p> - -<p>His friend thought so, and went home to express his opinion in three -columns of laudatory prose and twelve satirical verses describing the -great Homeric fray.</p> - -<h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> - -<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1">[A]</a> The Greeks call their modern Parliament by the classical -name of Boulé.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII.</span> <span class="smaller">PHOTINI NATZELHUBER.</span></h2> - -<p>Many years ago a German mechanic drifted, in the spirit of adventure, -eastwards, and finding the conditions of life offered him in Athens -sufficiently attractive for a man desirous of earning his bread in the -easiest manner possible, and not contemptuously inclined towards the -midday siesta, the excellent Teuton settled down in the city we may -presume to be no longer under the special patronage of Wisdom. Not that -Jacob Natzelhuber regretted that Athens’ reign was over. The mechanic -was ignominiously indifferent to all great questions, and so long as -his employers continued to pay him his weekly wages, conscientiously -earned and conscientiously saved, the extravagances of the unfortunate -King Otho and the virtues of Queen Amelia troubled him as little as did -the glorious ruins on the Acropolis. He never went near the Acropolis. -When his glance rested on the mass of broken pillars and temples that -dominate every view of the town, he doubtless confused them with the -eccentric shapes of the adjoining hills, and if asked his opinion -of that point of classic memories, would tranquilly remove his pipe -from his lips and remark that the other hill, his own special friend, -Lycabettus, was higher. A good-humored, egoistic, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>phlegmatic workman, -for the rest; fond of leisurely meditation on nothing, fond of smoking -in his shirt-sleeves with the help of an occasional glass of mastia or -brandy, and convinced that the world goes very well now as it did in -olden days, and that the Greek is a composite of barbarian and child.</p> - -<p>In a wife one naturally chooses what is most convenient, if one cannot -obtain what is most suitable. Jacob chanced upon an enormous indolent -maiden, dowered as Greek maids usually are, with a father whose house -property was prophetic of better things to come. The girl was not -handsome—nor as cleanly or learned in household matters as a German -<i>frau</i>; but some half dozen years in the makeshift of Oriental domestic -life had served to deaden Jacob’s fastidious sensibilities in this -department, and with the prospect of a little money and a couple of -houses in the neighbourhood of Lycabettus by and by, on the death of a -respectable father-in-law, he was so far demoralised as to face this -unsavory future with tolerable tranquillity. They married.</p> - -<p>The slow and philosophic Teuton found his Athenian wife and their one -servant—a small barefooted child, in perpetual terror of her mistress, -whose reprimands generally came upon her in the shape of tin utensils, -water-jugs or stiff tugs of hair and ear—rather more noisy than a -simple woman and child should be, to his thinking. But he preferred -a quiet smoke on the balcony to interference in the kitchen, whence -the sounds of hysterical cries, very bad language indeed, and sundry -breaking articles reached him.</p> - -<p>The lady, when not in a rage, a rare enough occurrence, was an amiable -woman so long as her innocent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> habits were not interfered with. Jacob -was indisposed to interfere with any one—even with his own wife. -So Kyria Photini peacefully smoked her three or four cigarettes, -and drank her small glass of cognac of an evening, chattered in -high Athenian tones with her neighbours, arrayed in a more or less -soiled white morning jacket, and any kind of a skirt, with black hair -all dishevelled, and sallow cheeks not indicative of an immoderate -preference for cold water and soap. The little maid trembled and broke -plates, went about with bare feet, short skirts and unkempt woolly -hair, meeting her mistress’s vituperations with a wooden animal look, -and lifting a protective arm to catch the threatened blow or object. -Jacob was not happy, but he was philosopher enough to know that few -people ever are, and that the highest wisdom consists in knowing how -to make the best of even the worst. He was fond of his wife in his -heavy German fashion, removed his pipe, and said, “come, come,” when -the heat unstrung her nerves and sent her from her normal condition, -bordering on hysterics, into positive madness; consoled himself by -remembering that distinguished men in all ages have agreed that woman -is incomprehensible, and hoped for some acceptable amelioration with -the birth of the expected baby.</p> - -<p>The baby came, a small dark girl, and the baby’s mother went to heaven, -Jacob naturally supposed, and shed the customary tears of regret, -though it can hardly have been happiness or comfort that he regretted. -He engaged an Athenian woman to look after the child, and returned to -his daily work and bachelor habits, deterred by recent experiences from -making any other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> venture in the search of domestic bliss. The child -was called Photini, and it was greatly to be hoped that a little of the -paternal temperament would go to correct the vices of the maternal, but -there are relative stages in the path of moral development, and a lazy, -hysterical, soulless woman is not the worst thing in feminine nature.</p> - -<p>Photini grew up pretty much as the animals do, without any but merely -natural obligations placed upon her. She ran about like a little street -arab, learned neither reading, nor writing, nor catechism, nor sewing; -swore like a small trooper, was more than a match for the barefooted, -unkempt-headed girl, who soon learned to tremble before her as she had -formerly trembled before her mother; was even too much for her quiet -father, who began to be afraid of her furious explosions, and was too -indifferent to the duties of paternity to trouble himself seriously -about her education. Yet a pretty and striking child she was, with -large topaz eyes, that in their audacity and frankness were sufficient -in themselves to arrest attention, if there were no mossy black curls -making an engaging network above and around the fine boyish brow; -with the absurdest and sauciest nose and a wide, pale mouth that had -a way of twisting itself into every imaginable grimace without losing -a certain disreputable charm of curve and expression. A face full -of precocious evil, but withal exquisitely candid—what the French -would call a <i>ragged</i> face, warning you and yet claiming a sort of -indefinable admiration from its absolute courage and truthfulness. She -took to the streets as kindly as if she had been born in them, rolling -about in mud and dust in the full enjoyment of unfettered childhood, -dealing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> blows, expletives, kisses and ugly names with generous -indifference. With every one she quarrelled, not as children do, but as -savages quarrel, fiercely and murderously; but even in this innocent -age she displayed a frank preference for the male sex. Girls filled -her with unlimited contempt, and she was never really happy unless -surrounded by a group of noisy, quarrelling boys. Then her pretty teeth -would gleam in wild laughter, and she would talk more nonsense in five -minutes than any six ordinary girls in an hour.</p> - -<p>The father saw the lamentable condition of his child, but being a -philosopher and caring only for abstract meditations and his ease, he -preferred that she should be kept out of his sight as much as possible, -than that he should be asked to mend matters. What can a man be -expected to do with a motherless baby girl? Not teach it the alphabet, -surely? Nor walk it about the barren slopes of Lycabettus of a Sunday, -nor initiate it into the mysteries of the Catechism? Clearly there was -nothing else for a hard-working and good-tempered German to do but let -nature work her will on such unpromising and unmanageable material, -and continued to smoke his pipe and drink his mastic at his favourite -coffee-house fronting Lycabettus. If nature failed, it was far from -likely that he should succeed, and it was too much to expect him to -devote his rare leisure hours to his unruly child. The neighbours did -not, however, regard it in this light; but then neighbours never are -disposed to regard the concerns of others from a reasonable point of -view. So many improvements they could bring into the management of your -family matters which they fail to bring into their own. No, no; leave a -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>philosopher to find the easiest road of life and to discover a way out -of all domestic responsibilities. Socrates was an admirable example in -this high path, and if he could discourse in public on the immortality -of the soul and other subjects, while his much calumniated wife and -child wanted bread at home, a more modest individual like Jacob -Natzelhuber might certainly sip his mastic in the Greek sunshine, and -cherish a poor opinion of the policy of Metternich, while his little -daughter was running about the narrow Athenian streets.</p> - -<p>But there was one saving and remarkable grace about Photini. Not only -did she display a nascent passion for music, but even as an infant -she had shown an amazing taste for thrumming imaginary tunes on every -object with which her fingers came in contact. When not fighting with a -dozen amiable little beggars, or rolling delightedly in mud and dust, -she was always to be seen playing this imaginary music of hers, and on -the few occasions when her father took her to hear the German band on -the Patissia Road, the sight of the King and Queen on horseback was -nothing to her in comparison with the joy of sound.</p> - -<p>This growing passion was becoming too prominent and imperious to be -long overlooked; besides, Jacob had a German’s reverence for true -musical proclivities, so he purchased the cheapest piano to be had, -engaged the services of a Bavarian music master who had come to Athens -in the hope of making his fortune under his compatriot king, and -for so many hours in the day, at least, Photini was guaranteed from -mischief. Her progress was something more than astonishing, and caused -the Bavarian to give his spectacles an extra polish before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> announcing -gravely to Jacob that Liszt himself could not ask for a more promising -pupil. This naturally made Jacob very thoughtful, and sent his aimless -meditations into quite a new channel. It is a negative condition of -mind to feel that one has a poor opinion of Metternich, but to learn -that one has a genius in one’s daughter leads to disagreeably positive -reflections.</p> - -<p>Now Jacob was a quiet man, we know, and the idea of an exceptional -child frightened him. It was not an enviable responsibility in his -estimation. Far from it, a distinctly painful one. An ordinary girl who -would have grown just a little better-looking than her mother, learned -to sew and housekeep in the usual way, and terminated an uneventful -girlhood by marriage into something better than mechanics, thanks to -his industry and economy—this was his ideal of a daughter’s career. -Evidently here Nature thought differently.</p> - -<p>As soon, however, as he had given a conscientious attention to -Photini’s talent, greatly injured by the modest instrument on which she -played, he came to the conclusion that this was not a case in which -man can interfere, and that he was before a vocation claiming its -legitimate right of sovereignty and refusing to be shifted off into the -shallow byways of existence.</p> - -<p>“I am of your opinion,” he said to the Bavarian master. “It is no -common talent, that of my girl, but for my part I would far rather she -did not know a major from a minor scale. It is not a woman’s business. -However, I can do nothing now. I leave the matter in your hands. I -am a poor man, but whatever you propose, as far as it is honourably -necessary,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> I will make an effort to meet your proposal,” he added, -with a slow, grave look.</p> - -<p>“There is nothing for it but Germany, Natzelhuber,” said the Bavarian, -promptly. “I should fancy we might manage, with the help of your -father-in-law, a little influence I possess, and the girl’s own genius, -to get her three or four years’ study in Leipzig. Once that much -assured, she need only keep her head above water, and the waves will -surely carry her——”</p> - -<p>The Bavarian flung out his hands in an attitude suggestive of infinity.</p> - -<p>“Well, well, so long as they do not carry her into evil,” said Jacob, -shaking his head mournfully. “I am mistrustful of a public career for a -woman.”</p> - -<p>“You cannot deny that it is better than marriage with a man of your own -class.”</p> - -<p>“I am not so sure about that. But I am afraid Photini will turn out -one of those women who had best avoid marriage with any one. She does -not look likely to make any man happy, or herself either. A perverse, -passionate, uneducated girl, with more ugly names in her head than any -two ordinary street boys, and not a single good or amiable instinct in -her that I can see.”</p> - -<p>Jacob, excellent man, quite forgot to take into consideration that he -himself was far from innocent of these disastrous results, and that his -paternal indifference had had far more to do with her ill condition -than any predisposition of the child’s.</p> - -<p>“That is quite another matter and one that concerns me not at all,” -rejoined the Bavarian, indifferently. “Art, my dear sir, Art! Fraulein -Photini represents an abstract idea to me. The problem of her destiny -as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> woman has no attraction for me. She may marry, or she may -not—she is not a pretty girl, but I have seen men make idiots of -themselves about uglier. It all depends on the spectacles you use. But -I am of opinion that a woman of genius has no business with marriage. -Goethe, you may remember, wisely calls it the grave of her genius.”</p> - -<p>“Probably, but there is time enough to think of that.”</p> - -<p>Photini’s grandfather, when consulted, was only too glad to contribute -towards the speculation of winging this hybrid fledgling from the -parent nest. The Greeks have a naïve respect for fame, of which there -was promise in Photini’s talent, so her relatives willingly abstracted -a portion from the family funds for her use.</p> - -<p>One October morning, Photini, a stripling rather than a girl, of -fifteen, with big keen yellow eyes and soft dark curls breaking away -from the eyebrows in petulant confusion over and round her head like a -boy’s, escorted by a faintly disapproving and anxious father, left the -Piræus on an Austrian liner bound for Trieste. Not at all a pretty or -attractive girl, most people would decide; of a vulgar indefiniteness -of type and a coarseness of expression hardly excused by the charming -hair and strange eyes. But she had the virtue of extreme youth on her -side, as shown in the slender and supple frame, in the freshness and -surprise of her glance, and in the rounded olive cheek melting into a -full throat like a bird’s. And youth, God bless it, carries its own -apology anywhere; it is the time of possibilities and vague hopes. This -girl might, nay, must grow less brusque, less vulgar, less boyish with -the development of womanhood; and as her features would refine, so -would her heart, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> present as safe and hard as a coral, expand and -open out its hidden buds of tremulous sensibility and delicate feeling.</p> - -<p>Her second year in Leipzig brought her the third medal, and a decided -reputation, yet there were many complaints against her. She had -unpardonable fits of idleness broken by explosions of temper, and -language hardly less gross than what might be expected in the lowest -phase of society. These shortcomings, added to a sharpness of manner -and a coarseness of mind, terrified and astounded her masters, who, -however, were ready enough to overlook such deficiencies when under -the spell of her masterful playing. A girl of seventeen with already -an unmistakable fire of inspiration and an echo of Liszt in her touch -was not to be despised clearly, whatever her vices, and they, alas! -were many, and promised to be more. Her companions shunned her, and -her masters spoke of her as “La gamine,” no other appellation being so -justly indicative of her appearance and manners.</p> - -<p>In the fourth year she left the Conservatoire, its acknowledged star, -and capable now of steering her own course in whatever direction -impulse or deliberate choice might push her. One of the fortunate -of this earth, standing, at twenty, apart, wrapped in the conscious -cloak of genius, a majesty, alas! she was incapable of measuring, and -which she was destined only to trail in the mire without reaping any -benefit, pecuniary or social, from its possession. It was almost as sad -a mistake on the part of Nature as if she had endowed one of the lower -animals with some glorious gift which could never be to it other than -a grotesque<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> ornament. The girl understood nothing of responsibility, -and yet she was proud, unapproachably proud as an artist. She felt and -gloried in her superiority in a stupid senseless way; could not acquit -herself of the commonest civility towards those who were desirous of -helping her, had not the remotest idea of gratitude or the art of -gracious acceptance, and considered inconceivable rudeness to every one -who addressed her as her natural right. She ought to have been happy, -and would doubtless have been so had she known ambition, or felt a -moderate but healthy desire to please. But she was hardly conscious of -feelings of any kind, only of blind dim instincts of which she could -give no account to herself. Poor dumb, unfinished creature with but -half a soul, and that run to music. It was pitiable. As she massed -follies, proud stupidities, and degradations one upon the other, until -the thinnest thread of common sense, of merely animal self-protection -was lost to view, one could only wonder and grieve, but not excuse. -Nature seemed to have been the sinner, and the extravagant creature -her victim. And then there were lucid moments—wretched awakenings, -stupefied contemplation of the havoc that had been made of promise, of -ripe chances, and, by way of anodyne, a deeper plunge into the mire.</p> - -<p>Her first act of independence was a concert in Leipzig which proved an -abnormal success, and then upon the advice of her director she went -to Vienna, furnished with letters for Liszt. The amiable and courtly -king of pianists received her with an exquisite cordiality, expressed -the highest satisfaction with her abilities, gave her a few finishing -instructions which she received,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> as was her wont, ungraciously enough; -used his influence in securing her success with his own special public, -and recommended her to Rubinstein, who was then on his way back from -England. This was the beginning of the only lasting period of lucidity -in her mad career.</p> - -<p>She left Vienna with Liszt’s portrait and his autograph, “To the Queen -of Sound,” added to her meagre luggage, for it was not her way to -decorate her plainness of person by any unnecessary attention to her -toilet. Just as, music excepted, she was totally uneducated, illiterate -even, barely able to write a letter that would shame a peasant, in -Greek or German,—which languages she regarded as equally her native -tongues,—so her person was left rigidly unadorned. At twenty the -results of untidiness are not so deplorable as at thirty or forty, for -there is always the fresh round cheek and clear gaze as a relief, and -then the complete absence of vanity in a very young girl, constantly -before the public in a prominent position, is something so unusual that -one can afford to regard it with a smile of wonder rather than one of -disdain. The striking feature of the case was that she was fond of male -society—particularly of the admiring and love-making male. But heaven -help the innocence of the lover who expected her to put on a bow, or -brush her hair, or choose a hat with a view to please him!</p> - -<p>Rubinstein was more than satisfied with her; paid little or no -attention to any eccentricity of exterior or manner, and was ready and -glad to do all in his power to advance her. After some years of hard -work and occasional public appearances, it was agreed that she should -spend a season at St. Petersburg. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - -<p>Everybody was disposed to receive her with open arms and lift her to -a permanent and glorious pedestal. But good-natured and art-loving -Russian princesses and countesses had calculated without their host. -This young lady had no desire to be patronised or helped. People might -come to her concerts or to her as pupils, and they might stay away: it -mattered little to her which they did. In either case she was pretty -sure to regard them as idiots, and if they came to her they would have -the advantage of hearing it,—that was the difference, which made it -easier for them to stay away, as not only the Russian princesses and -countesses found out, but also the princes and counts. They might -invite her to their entertainments, but it was a wise precaution on -their part not to feel too sure of her presence—as for expecting -an answer to a polite letter or message, or civil treatment upon a -morning call or at a lesson, well, all this lay without the range of -probabilities for the most sanguine.</p> - -<p>Her peculiarities were incredible. Rubinstein’s name and influence -opened every door to her, and the results were unique. She appeared at -one Grand Duchess’s in evening dress with woollen gloves, to the dumb -amazement of distinguished guests, one sprightly duchess wondering why -she had omitted to come in waterproof and goloshes. When introduced -to an ambassador, and informed of his passion for music, she coolly -surveyed him from the top of his bald head to the edge of his white -gold-striped trousers, and said to her host: “I do not want to be -introduced to him. A fellow in gold can know nothing about music.”</p> - -<p>Her pupils she treated even worse. One young <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>countess who was studying -Chopin with her sent her a rich plum cake. The Natzelhuber, as she -was called, was smoking a cigarette when the servant entered with the -countess’s letter, followed by a powdered footman who presented her the -cake with a stately bow.</p> - -<p>“Does your mistress fancy I am starving?” roared the artist, throwing -away her cigarette and seizing the cake in both hands. “What do I want -with her trumpery cakes? Tell her that is the reception it met with -from Photini Natzelhuber.”</p> - -<p>She opened the door, rolled the unfortunate cake down the stairs, flung -the gracious note after it, and upon them the frightened footman, who, -not foreseeing what was coming, was easily knocked off his balance by -her powerful little wrists. Of course the countess discontinued her -studies of Chopin, and the Natzelhuber can hardly be said to have been -the gainer in the transaction. These were the stupid blunders that left -her soon without a friend or a well-wisher. Incapable of a mean or an -ungenerous act; incapable of uttering a spiteful word behind an enemy’s -back, she was equally incapable of uttering a gracious one to the face -of a friend. The habit of recklessly indulging in vile language which -she acquired in the streets of Athens never left her, and ambassadors, -noblemen, artists and friends who momentarily offended her were never -less than “pigs, asses,” and other such gentle and inoffensive beings. -She could not help this failing any more than her bad temper and her -passion for brandy and sensual pleasures of every kind.</p> - -<p>“I know I am only a street vagabond mistakenly an artist, but I cannot -help it, nor do I desire to be <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>otherwise,” she would say, in her -clearer moments. “I am mad too, and that I cannot help either.”</p> - -<p>Deeply tragic assertions both, but not more deeply tragic than the -wasted life and abilities of the woman who made them. The irritable -creature, sick to death of Russia, sick of the perpetual and -humiliating contrast between her condition and that of those around -her,—a humiliation she scorned in the majesty of artistic pride to -admit to herself, but smarted from in that vague, unrecognised way -all feelings outside music and the grosser sensations stirred within -her,—left St. Petersburg without even sending her P. P. C. cards.</p> - -<p>She appeared next in Munich, now twenty-seven, at the height of -artistic fame, only second to her master, able to command the best -audiences and prices, with a European reputation for a startling -perfection of <i>technique</i>, a grandeur of inspiration and a simplicity -of interpretation that only goes with absolute mastery. Rubinstein -and others had dedicated several works to her, and for ten years she -traversed the musical world a splendid enigma, a blight, a shame and -a sorrow. The possession of certain irregular passions might have -found ample apology in her genius, but the Natzelhuber so degraded -her art that it quite sank into abeyance in the presence of her -iniquities. The wonder was soon, not that such an artist should be -so gross, but that such a soulless creature should possess the power -of thrilling her hearers with every delicate perception of sense and -harmony. As the years gathered over her, a curious slowness, almost a -dignity of movement was noticeable in her. She began to awaken to the -consciousness that the Natzelhuber was a kind of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> sovereign in her way, -and should attract the eye and silence frivolous tongues by her manner -of entering a room. She was stouter now, but carried her bulk well, -holding her head erect and looking calmly at each speaker with those -strange yellow eyes of hers, so luminous under the boyish, feathery -curls. But the light in them shone from no spirit or soul,—sensuously -attractive were they, like those of a Circe.</p> - -<p>Thus life found her at thirty-five, alone and friendless, though the -Viennese were well disposed towards her upon her reappearance in their -midst. But she was too embittered and cross-grained to care greatly for -their applause, and accepted the love Agiropoulos offered her renown -rather than her wretched self, as a kind of feeble protection from -her own society. Her princely disdain for money and the making of it -left her very naturally in constant debt, and this state of things was -hardly calculated to improve her temper.</p> - -<p>About this time young Ehrenstein came to Vienna in search of that -distraction we are all agreed to prescribe in the first stage of -bereavement. He knew Liszt, and from him procured a letter of -introduction to Photini. Determined to make a good impression, he -ordered expensive tailoring, and went forth to subdue in the amiable -superiority of sex and social elegance. The door was opened to him by -an extraordinary woman, who held a cigarette in her hand, and glared -furiously upon the timid Cæsar who had come to see and conquer.</p> - -<p>“What do you want with me, young man? I do not know you, and -furthermore, I do not wish to know you. I am not at home.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<p>Not a reception calculated to justify a young man’s innocent and -kindly estimate of his own value. Rudolph’s heart was in his mouth, -and the mildest form of expostulation was checked by fright and -amazement. Meeting Agiropoulos, he disclosed his hurt, upon which that -good-natured individual hastened to remonstrate with his irascible -friend.</p> - -<p>“Why on earth did you treat poor Ehrenstein so badly?” he asked, -surveying her with a look of impertinent amusement. “Do you know, -Photini, you often provoke a fellow into wishing you were a man that he -might relieve his feelings by a good open fight. But now to quarrel or -reason with a woman like you! Ouf! You are impossible!”</p> - -<p>“There is the door, if you are tired of me. If not, stay and hold your -tongue,” was the contemptuous retort, between two puffs of a cigarette.</p> - -<p>Agiropoulos had a certain sense of humor and a keen appreciation of -originality in any form. He laughed, and proceeded to roll a cigarette -in a very comfortable attitude.</p> - -<p>“But really, my dear Photini, you were wrong to behave as you did to -the lad. He is a very fair dilettante. He has just come from Pesth, -where he saw Liszt, who gave him a letter for you. He is wildly -desirous of hearing you play.”</p> - -<p>“It is possible. He should have said so. How was I to know that Franz -Liszt would send me a yellow-headed girl in trousers?”</p> - -<p>“But you did not give him time to say anything. You never do.”</p> - -<p>“Nobody ever has anything to say that is worth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> listening to. Poh, Poh, -Poh! The silliness of men and the weariness of life! Tell the fool he -can come to-morrow, and I’ll undertake not to eat him.”</p> - -<p>“He will be delighted to receive such satisfactory, and, on the whole, -rather necessary reassurance. His nature is so knightly that upon no -consideration, even the fear of offering himself as a meal, would he -dream of refusing to obey a lady’s mandate. And after his adventure -of yesterday, it is natural to suppose that he would view compliance -to-morrow with considerable trepidation of the possible results. By the -way, Photini, I am going to Athens in the morning.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her tranquilly, quite prepared for an explosion. She flung -away her cigarette, glanced at him just as serenely, and said:—</p> - -<p>“So! Then I will follow you.”</p> - -<p>“That is kinder than anything I had dared to hope from you, Photini,” -said Agiropoulos, gracefully. “Then you care for me enough to disturb -yourself on my account.”</p> - -<p>The Natzelhuber lighted another cigarette, puffed silently awhile, and -fixed her lover with her steady imperturbable gaze.</p> - -<p>“Don’t flatter yourself, my dear fellow! I never disturb myself for any -one, but I am sick of Vienna.”</p> - -<p>“It strikes me, my excellent friend, you are sick of most places in -an incredibly short space of time,” said Agiropoulos, sarcastically, -nettled by the coolness, of which he wanted a monopoly.</p> - -<p>“Possibly.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you will be civil to Ehrenstein to-morrow. Play him the -‘Mélodiés Hongroises.’ His mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> was a Hungarian, and he adored her. -The ‘Mélodiés’ will send him into Paradise.”</p> - -<p>“I am not conscious of a desire to procure him that happiness. What the -devil do I care about his mother or himself? Either the fellow knows -music or he doesn’t.”</p> - -<p>Agiropoulos was speeding on his way to Athens while Rudolph was sitting -in the Natzelhuber’s undecorated parlor, listening to the magic -“Mélodiés Hongroises,” wherein enchanting dance and melody spring -exultingly out of subtle waves of variation, their impetuous joy -broken suddenly by sharp notes of pathos and vague yearning. Music so -gloriously rendered thrilled him into instantaneous love, and his soul -was lost irretrievably in exquisite sound.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE RESULT OF THE BARON’S ADVICE.</span></h2> - -<p>It was the eve of Madame Jarovisky’s ball, and nearly a week had -elapsed since Rudolph Ehrenstein had permitted himself the painful -pleasure of a visit to Mademoiselle Natzelhuber. He was young and -impressionable enough for a week to work a rapid change in him under -novel circumstances. He mixed freely in the distinguished diplomatic -circles of Athens, had been with the Mowbray Thomases to Tatoi, played -cricket with Vincent, whose English-French was a source of piquant -amusement to him, his own being irreproachable, played tennis and drank -tea with the rowdy American girls his aunt disapproved of, and was -accompanied by Miss Eméraude Veritassi when he charmed a small audience -with Raff’s <i>Cavatina</i>. The Baron von Hohenfels expressed himself -delighted with his nephew’s success, praised his air of distinction and -reserve, wished him a little less shy, however, and implored him to -cultivate the virtues of tobacco.</p> - -<p>“It gives a man a certain tone to be able to appreciate a good cigar,” -he explained, airily. “You are improving undoubtedly. Your behaviour -with Mademoiselle Veritassi last night was quite pretty and gallant. I -may mention, Rudolph, that neither your aunt nor I have any objection -to Eméraude Veritassi. Her style is good,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> and her French—well, should -you think of diplomacy by and bye, you would have no reason to be -ashamed of it. She is about the only Greek girl I know who looks as if -she had been brought up in Paris. Yes, by all means cultivate her, if -you are disposed that way, though perhaps it would be wiser to choose -your wife at home.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph blushed and smiled pleasantly.</p> - -<p>“Is it not rather premature to talk of marriage for me, uncle?” he -asked, quizzically.</p> - -<p>“Quite so. Still, it is possible for a fellow at your age to get -disagreeably entangled, and a respectable marriage, you know, is always -preferable to that. Amuse yourself, by all means; I would not restrict -you in that line. You must be a man of the world, and gallantry is the -very finest education. As I said before, in the regular way, there is -no objection to Mademoiselle Veritassi, but for all irregular purposes, -stick to the married women, my dear boy. Become a favourite with -them, and study an attitude of delicate audacity, a kind of playful -<i>rouerie</i>.”</p> - -<p>All this was Hebrew to Rudolph, but he took care not to press his uncle -for an explanation. Instead, he went upstairs, and donned attire less -ostentatious and theatrical than the forest coat and long boots. In a -faultless suit of navy-blue he was seen an hour later upon the Patissia -Road walking towards the Platea Omonia, and a brisk pace brought him to -Photini’s door. It was opened by Polyxena, as rough and untidy as ever, -who jerked her thumb towards the stairs, and growled:—</p> - -<p>“You’ll find her upstairs.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> - -<p>Rudolph’s heart beat apprehensively as he slowly mounted and knocked -outside Photini’s door, which he opened gingerly after a loud “come in.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is you!” the Natzelhuber exclaimed, more graciously than usual. -“I thought it was that fool come for her lesson. Sit down, and let me -look at you.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph obeyed and smiled enigmatically, as he steadily met her lambent -gaze.</p> - -<p>“What have you been doing with yourself since I saw you?” she demanded, -imperiously.</p> - -<p>“Nothing in particular,” said Rudolph.</p> - -<p>“Humph! Your face does not show that.”</p> - -<p>“May I ask what it shows to your glance of investigation?”</p> - -<p>“You are growing impertinent and fatuous. Have you been studying the -excellent style of our friend Agiropoulos?”</p> - -<p>Rudolph drew himself up proudly. He, a high bred Austrian, to be -compared with a vulgar Greek merchant! He drew his aristocratic brows -into an angry frown, and raised an irreproachable hand to his fair -moustache:</p> - -<p>“I cannot think that anything in me could remind you of Monsieur -Agiropoulos.”</p> - -<p>Photini came over, and stood in front of him with folded arms, calmly -surveying him; then she leant forward, and placed her hands on his -shoulders, laughing.</p> - -<p>“They have doubtless been telling you what a fine fellow you are, and, -my dear child, they have been telling you a most infernal lie.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph burst out laughing, and took her two hands into his, which he -held in a gentle clasp.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle, you are a very extraordinary woman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> Some people might -say you are rude. I hardly think the word applies to you. I don’t know -what you are.”</p> - -<p>“Mad,” said Photini, drawing him to her and kissing him.</p> - -<p>Rudolph went red and white, and started back as if he had been shot. -No woman, except his mother, had ever kissed him, and the experience -coming to him thus, suddenly and unsought, filled him with an -inexplicable anger and pain. Without a word Photini walked straight to -the piano, and the silence waved into the unfathomable loveliness of -Chopin’s “Barcarolle.”</p> - -<p>It was a perfect apology. It must be confessed, this woman so dreadful -of speech was delicately cognisant of the language of the soul. Had -she been playing for a lover, she could not have done better. But she -was scarcely conscious of love for Rudolph. Her thirty-five years of -wretched hilarity and miserable sadness had left her heart untouched -until now, but she was too proud to acknowledge even to herself the -steadily growing interest and yearning awakened in her by the innocent -eyes of a lad, and while she played she resolutely kept her face -averted from Rudolph’s. So she saw nothing of the varying emotions that -swept across it as the notes at her magic touch rose and fell. First -his eyes closed, then opened and rested upon her profile eagerly; a -feverish red burnt in his cheeks, and his breath came hurriedly. A -sense of ecstasy oppressed him, and he drew near her as if impelled by -a force independent of his control. She looked up, and saw that his -eyes were wet, and he burst out:—</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is dreadful, I can’t bear it, but I love you!”</p> - -<p>Before she could make answer to this unflattering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> and anguished -declaration, the door opened, and Andromache Karapolos stood upon the -threshold. Rudolph moved hastily back, and met her glance of pleased -surprise with one of almost passionate gratitude. The spell and its -compelling influences had ceased with Photini’s last note, and now he -was only dreading the consequences of his insane avowal, and patiently -awaited the inevitable scene.</p> - -<p>But for the first time in her life, Photini showed an amiable front to -an intruder. She looked gently at Andromache, turned with a commanding -gesture to Rudolph, and stood for the girl to take her place at the -piano. Though wishing to escape, Rudolph felt that the words he had -just uttered laid him under a new obligation of obedience, and he went -and stood at the window, with his forehead pressed dejectedly against -the pane, looking down on the bright street, while he speculated -drearily on what was going to happen to him.</p> - -<p>Andromache’s slim brown fingers ran swiftly up and down the piano -several times before a word was uttered. Photini watched them -attentively, and then said, very graciously:</p> - -<p>“That is much better. But your thumb is still too exposed, and you sway -your body too much. You are not supposed to play from the waist. You -must give another week to scales, and then we’ll see about exercises.”</p> - -<p>Andromache rose, and said her brother was waiting downstairs for -her. Rudolph looked round at the sound of her voice, and thought her -prettier than before.</p> - -<p>“Why, Mademoiselle Veritassi would seem plain beside her,” he said to -himself, but his fastidious eyes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> running over her dress found it -common and ill-cut.</p> - -<p>The March-violet eyes rested a moment on his, and were lovely indeed by -charm of dewy freshness and girlish timidity. Andromache blushed to the -roots of her hair, and the blush was reflected on the young man’s face.</p> - -<p>In her nervous tremour she dropped one of her gloves, which he hastened -to pick up, and when he handed it to her, they exchanged another glance -of mutual admiration, and blushed again more eloquently than before. -This short pantomime of two susceptible young creatures was unheeded by -Photini, who was tranquilly lighting a cigarette, and when Andromache -with a low inclusive bow and a soft “Καλἡ μἑγχ σας,” departed, Rudolph -stood in silence at the window to catch a glimpse of her down the -street. He saw her cross in the direction of the Academy with a tall -military man, in whose black uniform and crimson velvet collar, he -recognized an artillery officer. For some foolish undefined reason he -rejoiced in this evidence of respectability in her brother.</p> - -<p>“My dear child,” Photini began, when they were alone, “you made a -fool of yourself a moment ago. It is possible folly is your normal -condition,—I believe it is so with men of your stamp, but there -are degrees, and you passed the limitations when you made a very -uncomplimentary and absurd declaration to me just now.”</p> - -<p>She paused to continue smoking. Rudolph breathed a sigh of relief to -find he was not taken seriously, and felt himself a cad for that very -reason. What right has a man to trifle with such emotions, and then -rejoice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> that he is not taken seriously? Such inconsequence is surely -unworthy a gentleman. He stared at her humbly and imploringly.</p> - -<p>“See the advantages of smoking! One can hold one’s tongue,” Photini -went on, serenely. “And now, please remember that I am an ugly woman -of thirty-five, and you a handsome boy of twenty-one. I am old in evil -knowledge, you still in the shade of innocence, a very pleasing shade -as long as young men can be got to remain in it. You are an aristocrat, -and I am a woman of the people. You perceive, Ehrenstein, that we have -nothing in common, and now, go about your business. I have had more -than enough of you.”</p> - -<p>“Photini,” he protested, touched by her brusque magnanimity, “I have -perhaps failed as a gentleman, but it is true, I can’t help loving you, -though I admit that nothing but sorrow can come of such love.”</p> - -<p>“No, you don’t love me, you love my music. In heaven’s name, don’t make -a fool of yourself,” she roared.</p> - -<p>“But don’t you want me to come again, Photini?”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t. Why should I?”</p> - -<p>“Is it possible to care for me a little?” he asked, sulkily.</p> - -<p>“You silly jackanapes! Why do you imagine I care for you?”</p> - -<p>“Because you kissed me,” Rudolph jerked out boldly.</p> - -<p>“And what if I did? There, I’ll kiss you again, and swear I don’t care -a rap for you,” she cried, half-laughing, and gathering his head into -her hands, she kissed his lips repeatedly. “Now be off, and don’t let<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> -me see you come whimpering or stamping about this neighbourhood again.”</p> - -<p>She pushed him firmly out of the room, and ferociously slammed the door -after him. When she was alone, she flung up her arms spasmodically, and -cried:—</p> - -<p>“Ouf! the fool! I’ve saved him, and I believe he is grateful to me. -Poor Photini! You ugly, forsaken old soul, to love a yellow-headed -boy at your time of life, with nothing in the world to recommend him, -not even his stupid yellow head.” With that she poured herself out a -generous glass of brandy, and drank it off at a draught.</p> - -<p>Poor Photini!</p> - -<p>That afternoon Ehrenstein met the Greek poet in Stadion Street, and -they turned and walked together towards Constitution Square, where they -sat down at one of the numerous tables outside the Cafés and drank -black coffee. Captain Miltiades passed, looking more military and more -fierce than ever, twirling a ferocious moustache and roving a killing -dark blue eye in search of feminine victims. He stopped to exchange a -few words with the Greek poet, and was introduced to Rudolph.</p> - -<p>“Has he not a very pretty sister who is taking lessons from -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber?” Rudolph asked, afterwards.</p> - -<p>“Who? Karapolos? I never heard of a sister. I always thought he was an -antique orphan. No one knows where he lives. He is the most abominable -fraud in Athens,—a kind of military clown, but a brave soldier for all -that, in spite of his <i>blagues</i>.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IX.</span> <span class="smaller">MADAME JAROVISKY’S BALL.</span></h2> - -<p>It was a mystery to the Karapolos how Madame Jarovisky had discovered -the existence of Andromache. It was customary for her to invite the -glorious and elegant warrior, with whom she had formed pleasing -relations at the Palace entertainments. Besides, Hadji Adam, the King’s -<i>aide-de-camp</i> and the very particular friend of Captain Miltiades, -generally stipulated that his heroic comrade should have the right -of entrance into all the distinguished houses of Athens. But even -Hadji Adam knew nothing about his family, and how did it come that -the Desposine Andromache Karapolos received a card of invitation for -Madame Jarovisky’s great ball given in honour of an English Cabinet -Minister? Julia the elder was not invited, nor was little Themistocles, -the bank clerk. Another remarkable circumstance was the lateness of -the invitation. It came on the eve of the ball. Andromache’s mother -and Julia were strongly of opinion that no notice should be taken of -an attention conveyed with such strange discourtesy. They did not know -Madame Jarovisky, and no chaperon had been invited to accompany the -younger Miss Karapolos. But Andromache was wild with desire to go. She -had often glanced in marvelling admiration<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> at the Jarovisky palace of -marble and statues and colonnades, though she was virtuous enough to -lower her eyes before the undraped statues of the terrace which she -regarded as scandalous. And now that the chance of entering its bronzed -gates and seeing the glories of its interior was presented to her, she -was passionately resolved to go. Miltiades was fond of Andromache, and -was easily persuaded into seconding her resolution. The head of the -house is chaperon enough for any girl, he explained to his weak mother, -and it was probably through Mademoiselle Natzelhuber that Madame -Jarovisky had learned of Andromache’s existence, which accounted for -the lateness of the invitation.</p> - -<p>So it was decided that Andromache should go. The excitement put -Maria into a good humour, and she was heard to sing, while starching -and ironing white petticoats, the Captain’s evening shirt and lace -bodices. A little dressmaker was hired for the day, who at breakfast -sat opposite the warlike Miltiades, and blushed when Themistocles -filled her glass with wine. Everyone laughed and spoke together at -table, except the dressmaker and Themistocles, who regarded it as a -personal slight that he had not been included in the invitation, and -this insult added to the thought of the forbidden paradise in the next -street, more than ever convinced him that there was nothing for him but -to emigrate to England. After breakfast, instead of showing himself -upon Constitution Square, he retired into his own room, and his violin -dismally expressed his dissatisfaction in asthmatic strains supposed to -be Schubert’s. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then what running about for the women, what screaming of reiterated -explanations, hysterical adjurations, differences of opinion as to the -looping of a flounce, the draping of a fold, the selection of a ribbon -or a flower! Maria was, of course, president of the house-parliament; -though her vision was frequently impeded by the tangled locks of hair -she found it so difficult to keep out of her black eyes. But the -warmest discussion has its end, and all longed-for hours eventually -arrive. When Themistocles arrived for dinner, he found he was the only -person insufficiently nourished upon the day’s excitement. Theodore -ministered to his wants, while all the women were in the girls’ chamber -robing Andromache.</p> - -<p>Very pretty she looked when dressed in cream muslin striped with -silk,—an exquisitely soft and dainty texture made at the Ergasterion -of Athens—trimmed with bows of crimson ribbon and charming Greek -lace. Her costume was inexpensive, and looked home-made, but its -very guilelessness was an effective setting to her extreme youth and -simplicity. A Greek girl, whatever her deficiencies, is never awkward -or vulgar, and the only suggestion Miltiades could offer in the way of -improvement, when he examined her critically, was the brushing off of -some of the powder which marred the fine olive of her face. Miltiades -himself was resplendent in his full-dress uniform, his <i>grande tenue</i>. -More than ever did he resemble the mythical slaughterer of those five -thousand wretched Turks; and such smiling and satisfied glory as his -was calculated to depress and fill with alarm the breast of the Sultan -himself.</p> - -<p>Andromache was muffled in a woollen shawl, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> taking the arm of her -gallant escort, they went out into the cold blue air. They walked -gingerly down the slanting and unpaved street, dreading to splash their -evening shoes in the running streams over which they were obliged to -jump every time a fresh street broke theirs horizontally. When they -reached the even pavement of University Street, behind Hansen’s lovely -marble Academy, outlined sharply against the pure dark sky above the -perfumed patch of foliage and flowers between it and the University, -their footsteps rang out with a loud echo, Andromache’s high heels -tapping the stones aggressively. Already a line of carriages was drawn -up outside the Jarovisky’s palace. It was the largest ball given at -Athens for years. Every one who was not in mourning was there, and most -people who were.</p> - -<p>Dr. and Madame Jarovisky received their guests at the head of the chill -and magnificent hall. When Miltiades appeared, Dr. Jarovisky shook -his hand most cordially and asked after his wife and children, shook -hands with Andromache, and remarked that he never saw her looking so -well, and was delighted to renew his acquaintance with her. Miltiades -telegraphed her a glance of warning against any expression of surprise, -and explained to her afterwards that Dr. Jarovisky never remembered any -of his guests. Madame Jarovisky feebly expressed the pleasure it gave -her to see Miss Andromache Karapolos, and hoped she would enjoy herself.</p> - -<p>The rooms were crowded, but in spite of heavy perfumes and laughter and -light, they were freezingly cold, built as they were of marble, with -porphyry pillars and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> mosaic floors. Andromache shivered a little, and -looked anxiously around while her brother twirled his moustache, and -beamed a fatuous smile upon the groups he swiftly scanned.</p> - -<p>“See, Miltiades, there is Hadji Adam flirting with Madame von -Hohenfels. How handsome he is! and how distinguished she.”</p> - -<p>“Madame von Hohenfels is what the French call <i>grande dame</i>. I was -introduced to her nephew yesterday. He is a very pretty fellow. I -daresay he is somewhere about.”</p> - -<p>They entered another room, and here Andromache’s quick glance singled -out a noticeable group of laughing and chattering young persons. -Mademoiselle Eméraude Veritassi, beautifully arrayed in costly glory -from Worth, was its centre, and round her hovered or buzzed like bees, -Miss Mary and Master John Perpignani, Agiropoulos, the Greek poet, the -young ladies of the American Legation, Ehrenstein and Vincent Mowbray -Thomas. At that moment Rudolph happened to look round and met the -March-violet eyes, bewitching in the eloquent delight of recognition. -She blushed prettily, and an answering blush asserted sympathy on his -boyish face. He broke away from the gay crowd, and saluted Captain -Karapolos with insinuating cordiality.</p> - -<p>If there is a thing the Greek has, at all hours, and in all places, -at the disposal of his fellow-man, it is his hand. He shakes hands at -every possible pretext, or he embraces. How he would express himself if -that method of greeting were suddenly suppressed by act of Parliament, -it is not for me to say, but I imagine he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> would pay a fine rather than -forego the habit. Miltiades, after a jaunty military salute, of which -he was equally profuse, held out a white-gloved hand, and then stood -with the other gracefully reposing on his hip to discourse to Rudolph -in unintelligible French.</p> - -<p>“Vous êtes bien, Monsieur,” he began cheerfully.</p> - -<p>“Mais oui,” responded Rudolph, smiling at Andromache to whom he -bowed deferentially. “Est-ce que vous voudriez bien me presenter à -Mademoiselle votre sœur?”</p> - -<p>“Monsieur Rudolph Ehrenstein; Andromache—ma sœur,” said Karapolos, -with a flourish, and then discovered that he had come to an end of his -French. He smiled largely, and his teeth and handsome eyes, so like his -sister’s, did duty for speech.</p> - -<p>And while he was ogling Miss Mary Perpignani, to whose satisfactory -dowry he aspired, audacious Rudolph had asked and obtained Andromache’s -first quadrille, and furthermore secured her for the cotillon, which, -of course, Miltiades would conduct according to custom.</p> - -<p>“Vous me ferez l’honneur, Monsieur, de me confier Mademoiselle votre -sœur?” Rudolph asked.</p> - -<p>“Certainement,” assented Karapolos, delighted at the unexpected -remembrance of a new word. “Je—je, comment—tell him, Andromache, I -want to dance myself,” he burst out in Greek.</p> - -<p>Andromache translated his wish, and as she spoke, with an expression of -shy and charming deprecation, dark and light blue eyes held each other -in fascinated gaze. Rudolph’s heart, as fresh and innocent as hers, -began to comport itself in a very irregular fashion, and his frame -thrilled under a sense of exquisite emotion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> Her French was a little -halting, and he was obliged to choose the easiest words for her, but -how pleasant it was to hear her speak? The dancers were taking their -places for the first quadrille, and Rudolph offered Andromache his arm. -He reddened with pleasure when he looked down and saw her little hand -in a white silk glove on his coat sleeve. From that moment he thought -silk much prettier than Suède or kid. There was something birdlike and -irresponsible in the awakening passion of these two young creatures. -Neither dreamed of struggling against it or of consequences, but simply -fluttered towards each other with lovely glances of sympathy and candid -admiration.</p> - -<p>The Baroness von Hohenfels, talking to the Right Honourable Samuel -Warren, M. P., raised her gold <i>face à main</i> to scrutinise the dancers -casually, and saw her nephew with his dowdy and much too pretty -partner. She frowned a little, noting how completely absorbed he was -and on what an intimate footing the young pair already appeared to be, -and looked round in search of Mademoiselle Veritassi, whom she saw -dancing with the amiable Agiropoulos. She beckoned imperiously to her -husband, who obediently left the side of the English Minister’s wife, -and courteously begged to be enlightened as to the cause of her signal.</p> - -<p>“Who is that girl Rudolph is dancing with?”</p> - -<p>“You surely don’t expect to find me posted up in the names and -parentage of all the young ladies of Athens?” laughed the easy baron, -looking round.</p> - -<p>“Have you eyes in your head? Can’t you see that they are flirting?” -protested the baroness.</p> - -<p>“He certainly is greatly taken up with her. I fear, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> dear, instead -of being the muff I believed him, your nephew is an inveterate flirt. -But I’ll inquire about her.”</p> - -<p>The baron went back to Mrs. Mowbray Thomas, and the popular poet -passing, the baroness touched his arm with her fan, and smiled him an -arch invitation.</p> - -<p>“M. Michaelopoulos,” she asked, taking his arm, “you know everybody in -Athens, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>The poet modestly deprecated any such pretension.</p> - -<p>“Well, at least you can tell me who that exceedingly attractive young -lady is my nephew is dancing with.”</p> - -<p>The poet glanced down the room and singled out the couple.</p> - -<p>It was impossible for the dullest observer to mistake the language of -eyes that constantly dwelt on each other, and the foolish alacrity with -which their hands met and clasped in the decorous dance.</p> - -<p>“To my eternal desolation, Madame la Baronne, I must admit my -ignorance. The young lady is, as you observe, charming—a little -provincial, perhaps, clearly not of our world, but charming, very -charming. I entreat you, Madame, to note the <i>naïveté</i> and candour of -her—how shall we name it? <i>entrainement?</i> the first pressure of the -dangerous influence upon tranquil maidenly pulses.”</p> - -<p>“Confine yourself to prose, my friend, for the moment, and if you obey -me, discover for me her parentage, position, etc.”</p> - -<p>“Madame has to command, and I fly to obey her. I conjecture Monsieur -Ehrenstein’s latest flame to be a little impossible Athenian, living -the Gods know where and how.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Latest?” cried the baroness, with a look of displeased inquiry.</p> - -<p>“Ah! it is to see that Madame’s great mind soars in the empyrean of -diplomatic considerations or upon ground more ethereal still. Her -delicate ears do not catch an echo of the vulgar gossip upon which -grosser ears are fed.”</p> - -<p>“I have requested you, M. Michaelopoulos, to discourse to me in prose. -What is the vulgar gossip you refer to?”</p> - -<p>The poet looked chill, and said, with brutal directness:</p> - -<p>“My faith! Madame, your interesting nephew is thought to be the lover -of that dainty morsel of womanhood, the Natzelhuber.”</p> - -<p>Madame von Hohenfels frowned, and then laughed.</p> - -<p>“You forget, Rudolph is noble.”</p> - -<p>“I have not remarked that nobility is specially fastidious in such -matters. Women! Well, that is frankly a department in which there is no -accounting for tastes, and good blood shows as pretty an eccentricity -as any other.”</p> - -<p>The English statesman was approaching, and the poet walked away with an -expression of countenance clearly indicating an intention to remember -the baroness’s snub. The dance was over, and in the pause which ensued, -Madame Jarovisky, mindful of Rudolph’s information that Andromache was -a very promising pupil of Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, politely requested -her to favour the company with a specimen of her powers.</p> - -<p>“Your mistress has not yet arrived,” she added by way of encouragement, -“and you can take advantage of her absence.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - -<p>Rudolph warmly seconded Madame Jarovisky, and thus flatteringly -besought, Andromache suffered herself to be led by the young Austrian -to the grand piano. At first she was terribly nervous, and the notes -faltered and shook unsteadily beneath her fingers, but discovering -that small attention was really paid to her, and drinking in courage -and nerve from Rudolph’s pleasant glances of admiration, she gradually -acquired a firmer touch, and played fairly well, with brilliancy and -just expression, a dance of Rubinstein’s. She was more than half-way -through her performance, when a whisper ran through the rooms:—“The -Natzelhuber!”</p> - -<p>The Cabinet Minister immediately adjusted his eyeglass, and held -his sharp, heaven-aspiring nose in a beatific pose that denoted an -expectation of diversion. Madame von Hohenfels smiled blandly, well -pleased that somebody else should have the onerous charge and torture -of entertaining the great woman. Photini was marshalled fussily up -the room by anxious little Dr. Jarovisky, himself a blaze of medals -and decorations, while his wife advanced with an air of pathetic -deprecation and prayer, as if by such feeble weapons the thunder of -this female Jove might best be averted. Phontini did not meet her -hand, but just glanced at her in calm disdain, and nodded a serene, -impersonal and inclusive gaze around, walked to a distant mantelpiece -and placidly took her stand there.</p> - -<p>“Who is that playing?” she asked of Dr. Jarovisky.</p> - -<p>“Really, Mademoiselle, I—I—but wait, I will ask my wife,” the doctor -hastened to say, and in his hurry to satisfy the inexorable artist, -stumbled over a half dozen chairs and guests before he reached his -perturbed wife. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Calliope, she wants to know who is playing?”</p> - -<p>“A pupil of hers—Andromache Karapolos,” said Calliope.</p> - -<p>Dr. Jarovisky stumbled back in the same awkward and nervous fashion, -and said, excitedly:</p> - -<p>“You will be charmed, I am sure, Mademoiselle, to learn that the young -lady who is delighting us all is a pupil of yours.”</p> - -<p>“A pupil of mine, sir?” interrogated Photini, imperiously.</p> - -<p>“Mais, oui, ja, ja, Ναἱ,” cried Dr. Jarovisky, in his fright exploding -into a multiplicity of tongues. “A Desposine Andromache Karapolos,” and -he smiled pleadingly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, indeed,” said Photini, with that desperate calm of hers that -invariably preluded a thunderstorm.</p> - -<p>She rose, and followed by her shaken host, walked slowly down the -room with the face of a sphinx. When she came near the piano, Rudolph -looked up, saw her, bowed and smiled in anxious conciliation. She -neither returned his bow nor his smile, but came behind Andromache, and -deliberately dealt that inoffensive maiden a sound box on the ear.</p> - -<p>“May I ask who gave you leave to murder Rubinstein for the benefit of a -lot of idiots worse than yourself?” she cried.</p> - -<p>Pressing her palm to the outraged cheek, now crimson from the blow, -Andromache turned round with a face held between indignation and -shocked fear. Her tongue refused to give voice to the piteous words -that rushed to it, and tears of wounded pride and shame drowned the -March violets. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> - -<p>“C’est trop fort, Mademoiselle,” Rudolph exclaimed, with a flame of -masterful passion in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Vraiment?” retorted Photini, coolly. “Occupez-vous de vos affaires, -Monsieur, et laissez les miennes,” and the utter vileness of her accent -seriously imperilled the dignity of her speech and deportment. “As for -you,” she continued in Greek, turning to Andromache, “you will be so -good as to leave Rubinstein, Ehrenstein and every other ’stein alone, -and content yourself with scales and exercises for the next year.”</p> - -<p>In spite of her cruel and inadmissible behaviour, it was impossible not -to feel some sympathy with the just anger of a severe and conscientious -artist, though one naturally wished it had sought a less explosive -outlet; and it was equally impossible not to recognise that such -severity, in more measured and human form, is very salutary for the -inefficient and abnormally rash young amateur. But of course all direct -sympathy was for the moment concentrated on poor Andromache. Rudolph -followed her, looking like a quarrelsome knight, as he stood guard over -insulted girlhood, until her brother rushed forward to carry her home; -and swore to himself, with petulant emphasis, that never again would he -address a word of civility to the woman he mentally apostrophised as a -monster and a fiend.</p> - -<p>“Ne pleurez pas, Mademoiselle,” he cried, feverishly. “C’est qui doit -avoir honte. Pour vous, vous devez la mepriser. Dieu sait si vous en -avez le droit.”</p> - -<p>“Laissez-moi, Monsieur. Je ne puis rien dire,” said Andromache in a -choking voice, and seeing Miltiades coming towards her with a furious -stride and the kind of look he must have worn when he sent those five<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -thousand Turks to Paradise, she rushed to him and gathered her fingers -round his arm convulsively. But a warrior and hero like Miltiades could -not expect to appreciate the dignity of a pacific departure. With his -sister upon his arm he walked to the spot where Photini was seated, -listening to the bantering expostulations of Agiropoulos leaning over -the back of her chair. She looked impassively at the angry face of the -captain, then at the shamed and drooping head of Andromache, but said -nothing.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhuber,” said Miltiades, with a curt bow, -“I have the honour to announce to you that my sister will in future -discontinue her music lessons.”</p> - -<p>“And what difference do you think that will make to me?” retorted -Photini. “It will be her loss.”</p> - -<p>“If you were a man I should know how to deal with you. But as you are -only a woman, I can but despise you.”</p> - -<p>“If it gives you any satisfaction, I am happy to have afforded you the -occasion.”</p> - -<p>With this little passage of arms, in which Miltiades may be said to -have come off second best, the Captain and his sister retreated, -proudly stopping to receive the apologies of Madame and Dr. Jarovisky, -and left the field to the enemy.</p> - -<p>“A very curious scene indeed,” remarked the Right Honourable Samuel -Warren, M. P., to Mrs. Mowbray Thomas. “It is most refreshing to obtain -these picturesque glimpses of foreign manners.”</p> - -<p>“They’ll have to drop asking that woman into society,” said the English -Ambassador. “She is downright dangerous. I never heard of such a thing -in my life—striking <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>a pretty, inoffensive girl in a drawing-room.”</p> - -<p>“We are perhaps a little insular and restricted, and our drawing-room -life is insufficiently supplied with excitement and surprise,” rejoined -the Cabinet Minister.</p> - -<p>It was some time before the guests fell into the ordinary social -groove. Whether they danced, or chatted, or walked about, they managed -to keep a careful and apprehensive eye upon the artist who had so -unexpectedly upset the universal equilibrium. But Photini tranquilly -ate the ice Agiropoulos brought her, indifferent to the general gaze -fixed thus upon her, called for a glass of cognac, and then, with a -look of bland defiance at Rudolph, who stood leaning sulkily against -the wall, announced her intention of playing once only, and then taking -her departure. Rudolph neither heeded the purport of her movement nor -the direct challenge of her amber glance. His thoughts were away with -Andromache, telling him that she was prettier and sweeter than any one -in these crowded rooms, wondering if she were crying, and resolving to -meet her brother somewhere the next day and to obtain permission to -call on her. Photini he simply loathed.</p> - -<p>But ah! good heavens, what a horrible test of his hatred! There was -that tantalising witch actually playing at him the fatal irresistible -“Mélodiés Hongroises.” He closed his eyes, not to be tempted to look at -her with softened emotion; steeled his heart against her that it should -not melt upon such sound; but he did not shut his ears. And when their -eyes met perforce, there was no longer anger in his, and there was -triumph in hers.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER X.</span> <span class="smaller">A RANDOM SHOT.</span></h2> - -<p>Dr. Selaka was a proud and hopeful man on the morning he saw Gustav -Reineke depart for Syra, in charge of the amiable captain of the -<i>Sphacteria</i>. On his return from the Piræus, where he had bidden him -farewell, he bethought himself of the duty of inquiring into the -identity of this mysterious personage. He consulted Dr. Galenides, -who in turn consulted the German Consul and was referred then to -the Baron von Hohenfels. Herr Gustav Reineke was vaguely known upon -learned repute, but of his antecedents, parentage, means, and social -and domestic condition, no information could be accurately obtained. -Assertion was winged upon surmise, a very untenable resource with -foreigners. There might be a Frau Reineke and a domestic circle in -the background, and there might not. Of shadier relations no note was -taken. In olden days, we know, science went hand in hand with sharp -poverty—clearly an undesirable sequel to Inarime’s protected girlhood. -With such a possibility ahead, Dr. Selaka recognised the rashness of -arresting the eye of hope upon this particular marriage, despite the -depressing reflection that his maniacal brother would infinitely prefer -to support an archæological son-in-law, than see Inarime gracefully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> -enthroned above Athenian matrons, a jewel in solid, unlearned gold.</p> - -<p>“Stavros is right. Better have the girl up to Athens, and play her -beauty upon the susceptibilities of our friend Mingros.” But it was a -minor question. His attention was engrossed by parliamentary strife -and the coming election. This was but the preliminary of ministerial -glory. Place him upon the tribune, Hellas would shake with the thunder -of his voice, and Europe hold down her abashed head in the face of -a violated Treaty of Berlin, and an unenlarged Greek frontier. He -mentally apostrophised Europe, and fell to speaking of himself, and -gesticulating wildly, as he walked from the station in Hermes Street to -inspect the new house he was building close to the Queen’s Hospital. -The work was progressing fairly, and as he made a bid for luck by -sacrificing a cock before the first stone was laid, he felt healthily -free from apprehensions of any sort. Dr. Galenides was coming out of -the Hospital as he turned to go, and the friends stopped to discuss the -situation.</p> - -<p>“Stavros grows more irrepressible,” said Dr. Galenides, with a curious -smile. “He wields his pen not as a sword but as a whip to lash us all, -friends and enemies.”</p> - -<p>“All bluster. He likes to be thought volcanic,” laughed Selaka, easily.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he has no objection to a reputation a trifle more serious,” -Galenides suggested, with a look ostensibly blank.</p> - -<p>Dr. Selaka glanced sharply round at him.</p> - -<p>“Do you distrust him?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is a wise saying—trust nobody. We are all liable to change.”</p> - -<p>“What change do you foresee in Stavros?”</p> - -<p>“A change you will hardly appreciate,” Dr. Galenides replied, shutting -up his lips with a secretive air.</p> - -<p>“Turncoat?”</p> - -<p>“Well, well, report speaks queerly at times. Had you been wise, you -would have hesitated to compromise yourself upon pressure of his. But -it is customary for monarchs to yield to the blandishments of their -ministers. This understanding is the basis of the throne. Yours, my -friend, is not stable.”</p> - -<p>“You forget that I am a monarch of a realm that knows neither ministry -nor change. By the way, I sent that young man off to Tenos to-day.”</p> - -<p>“That’s another bold stroke. You are too fond of random shots. Beware -of bringing down the wrong bird.”</p> - -<p>Selaka flushed darkly, and frowned in a threatening manner.</p> - -<p>“You have the merit of making yourself understood.”</p> - -<p>“I always endeavour to do so, Constantine. Good-bye, before we quarrel. -Come and dine with me this evening.”</p> - -<p>The doctors shook hands perfunctorily. Selaka was profoundly troubled -by these hints against the political constancy of his friend and -adviser. He had sagacity enough to believe that Galenides would not -speak without some justification for his doubts. It was widely known -that Galenides was in the confidence of the Minister. Zeus! Could Oïdas -have bought him over?</p> - -<p>He kept a keen lookout for any casual evidence of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> disloyalty or -coldness. For some days depression lay heavily on his spirits, and a -telegram from Pericles announcing the safe arrival of the stranger, -only temporarily lifted the gloom.</p> - -<p>The week was spent in canvassing on his own account, and everywhere he -met with proofs of his follower’s remissness on his behalf. He taxed -Stavros with faithlessness, and his chequered feelings were promptly -whipped back into confidence by the other’s cordiality and grave -assurance.—He desert a friend! Might the soul of his father appear to -him that night, and announce eternal perdition to him, if he could be -guilty of such meanness! Might hell’s flames encompass him, and the -remainder of his days be in shadow! He thumped his chest violently, -showed by a crimson cheek the wound upon his honour, and the flame of -resentment was in his tawny eyes.</p> - -<p>Dr. Selaka was convinced, and apologised. Remorse held his glance -averted from that of his wronged friend, so gave the other an -opportunity for looking slyly sideways at him, and pursing his lips -forward to strangle the perfidious smile about them.</p> - -<p>In that evening’s edition of the “New Aristophanes,” there was a -sensational announcement that the editor ardently desired to explain to -the Athenians the motives of a change of policy, and he considerately -gave them <i>rendez-vous</i> on the following Sunday afternoon at the Odeon -in Minerva Street.</p> - -<p>Selaka was alarmed to the verge of unreason, and found no comfort in -an enthusiastic letter received that morning from Pericles, expressing -complete satisfaction with Reineke, and his conviction that he was -in every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> way worthy of Inarime. Is it human to be interested in -the marriage of a niece when signs of storm are visible upon the -political horizon? But it was still possible that a change of policy -in Stavros meant no defection upon the question of the mayoralty. All -he craved was the lawyer’s help to that post of civic honour, and in -parliamentary matters he was free as a weathercock.</p> - -<p>There was something so irresistibly comic and original in the audacious -proposal of Stavros, that hardly a male in the town failed to put in -an appearance at the Odeon. The siesta was cut short, and at half-past -three numbers of black-coated civilians were crossing the Platea -Omonia, where the afternoon band was playing in front of the Café -Charamis. All the tables were speedily vacated, with empty coffee cups -to speak of the unwonted evasion. The band went on playing to the -nurses and babies, over whom a soldier or two mounted guard.</p> - -<p>The Odeon was crowded, and many had to content themselves with being -packed closely in the passage, whence a second-hand knowledge of the -proceedings could be obtained.</p> - -<p>Agiropoulos, always on the alert for surprise and excitement, was -there, chatting audibly with the glorious Miltiades. The poet looked on -with a casual, contemptuous glance, which clearly expressed his opinion -that these Athenians were so very provincial and absurd.</p> - -<p>“Absurd? Yes,” ejaculated Agiropoulos, aggressively scanning the -assembly through his eyeglass. “That completes their interest.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> - -<p>“By the soul of Hercules! that fellow they call the King of Tenos is -monstrous,” muttered the poet.</p> - -<p>“Because he presents the front of a credulous Greek?”</p> - -<p>“Because he is a damned idiot.”</p> - -<p>Here their flattering comments were interrupted by the appearance of -Stavros upon the stage. There was lively promise of what the French -would call “une séance à sensation,” and all eyes were fastened -curiously upon the lawyer and recreant politician. As for his views, -we will not indicate them, nor attempt to reproduce his words. The -evolution he attempted to accomplish and gracefully explain might -fitly be described less delicately upon non-political ground, but the -atmosphere is everything.</p> - -<p>Stavros was tightly buttoned in a frock coat, as became a legal -deputy. A semi-humorous, wholly false smile ran along his lips, and -his audacious eyes twinkled pleasantly with appreciation of his -difficulties. He saw Selaka, and he nodded deprecatingly, his smile -growing sweet and unsteady. And then, with a preparatory sentence or -two, he launched out on the sea of empty eloquence. He glided fluently -over trivialities, and lost his listeners in a fog of vague ideas, -stringing grandiose expressions with an abominable readiness, until -weariness sat upon the spirit of sense and begat regret for the wisdom -of silence. Alas! this is a wisdom the modern races are unwilling to -acquire. The wordy eloquence of the parliamentarian delights depraved -taste here as elsewhere, and as long as Stavros talked grandly of -Europe, the Treaty of Berlin, the enlargement of the Greek frontier, -the future grasp of Constantinople, he was quite able to drown his own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -particular villainy with these sprays of aspiration. Some might think -him untrue to his political principles, but, after all, what principles -could any honest politician have but the good of his country? It had -been clearly demonstrated to him that his dear particular friend, Dr. -Selaka, the distinguished member for Tenos, was an unfit candidate for -the Mayoralty, and that the election of Kyrios Oïdas would redound to -the honour and glory of Athens.</p> - -<p>“How much has he paid you?” Selaka roared, jumping to his feet, and -glaring at the orator.</p> - -<p>“Come, Stavros, name the sum,” was shouted from the body of the hall.</p> - -<p>Stavros reddened faintly, but he faced the insult with an imperturbable -air, dismissing it in disdainful silence. He maundered on, outrageously -displaying his conviction that men will swallow any amount of nonsense -from a public speaker. His speech was largely interspersed with such -sounding and significant words as “patriotism,” and “liberty,” the -glory of Greece, duty to his constituents, and the good of Athens, and -wound up by protesting that the eye of Europe was anxiously fixed upon -the coming election, and it behoved the Athenians to stand upon their -honour.</p> - -<p>This farrago was followed by loud applause, and Agiropoulos and -the poet forced their way out of the hall to enjoy a hearty laugh. -Agiropoulos was satirical, and drew a moving picture of Europe -trembling upon the issue of the contest between Oïdas and Stavros. The -poet turned it into rough verse, and both exploded again in roars of -appreciative mirth.</p> - -<p>“All the same, he is a villain, that Stavros.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> - -<p>“A very clever fellow,” protested Agiropoulos, “and noticeably for -sale. I don’t blame a man for making the best of his vices and gilding -them for exposure.”</p> - -<p>Selaka was coming out, in voluble altercation with the great Miltiades. -The captain looked majestically indignant, and frowned with dreadful -purpose. The Deputy shook his fist back towards the hall, thundered, -vociferated, and clamored frantically for vengeance.</p> - -<p>“There is nothing for it, my friend, but a duel,” the captain insisted. -“You must fight him, positively.”</p> - -<p>“I will fight him, yes. I, Constantine Selaka, will mangle, murder, -shoot him.”</p> - -<p>This wrench of wounded trust was more than the wretched man could bear. -Agiropoulos took malicious interest in his raving and ranting. He -drew near and, by a sympathetic remark, put a point upon his victim’s -sufferings.</p> - -<p>“By Zeus! I’ll shoot him, I will. I’ll riddle him with balls, and leave -his carcase food for the ravens.”</p> - -<p>“A very laudable intention on your part, Kyrie Selaka, and one that -every reasonable man will appreciate,” said Agiropoulos, winking at the -poet.</p> - -<p>“I have urged him to it,” Miltiades explained, heroically. “I am proud -to place myself in this delicate matter at the service of Dr. Selaka.”</p> - -<p>“It is an honour to know a gallant man and a hero like you, Captain -Karapolos,” Agiropoulos rejoined gravely.</p> - -<p>Miltiades touched his hat and bowed. His expression eloquently said: -“If it’s gallantry and heroism you’re in search of, you’ve come to the -right person.”</p> - -<p>The distraught doctor, walking between his friends,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> uttered many a -rash word, and no suggestion less than murder could appease his wrath. -That evening it was bruited round Athens that he had sent a challenge -to Stavros, and the town impatiently awaited the exciting results.</p> - -<p>Oïdas acted as second to Stavros. When the hour was fixed, he found his -principal plunged in the depths of despair. The lawyer and editor had -a very good notion of settling a quarrel with the pen and the tongue, -but when it came to a question of loaded pistols, capacity oozed out -through his finger-tips, and the sweat of mortal terror drenched his -brow.</p> - -<p>“If the thing should not go off properly?” he suggested.</p> - -<p>“Just hold it straight, and sight your target—like this,” Oïdas -explained, lifting the weapon.</p> - -<p>“Oh, oh! take care, Oïdas. Mind it doesn’t go off,” Stavros -supplicated, making a rush for the door.</p> - -<p>“You fool! It is not even loaded.”</p> - -<p>Stavros sat up all night to write miserable letters to his mother and -sisters at Constantinople, and heaped curses on the head of his frantic -enemy. The doctor fared hardly better. Deprived of the stimulating -society of his military friend, his spirits sank, his mind became -unhinged, and his aspect took a funereal hue. He sent an incoherent -missive to Pericles, and lay on his bed weeping and moaning. When -Miltiades and Agiropoulos aroused him next morning, his eyelids were -appalling to behold, and his effort at cheerfulness most ghastly.</p> - -<p>“A soldier never anticipates evil; is that not so, my brave Captain?” -laughed Agiropoulos.</p> - -<p>“Could not this matter be more pacifically arranged?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> Selaka implored, -vainly endeavoring to conceal his fear in the mask of humanity. “It is -a sinful thing, my friends, to waste the blood of one’s fellow in a -private quarrel.”</p> - -<p>“If it comes to that,” said the ready Agiropoulos, “there is little to -choose between public and private quarrels. Indeed, more often than -not, wars have sprung from personal differences.”</p> - -<p>“But the law of every civilised country forbids duelling. Stavros and -I are both lawgivers—that is, we represent the Constitution, and are -bound to uphold it. It would be monstrous for two members of Parliament -to break the law,” pleaded Selaka, covering himself with a last poor -remnant of virtue.</p> - -<p>“We make the laws for others, never for ourselves. Hang it, man, -what’s liberty if it can’t provide us with a backstairs to the Temple -of Wrong, and can’t supply us with decent excuses for the evasion of -principles?”</p> - -<p>“There is an abominable looseness in yours,” remarked Selaka, in a -doleful attempt at indignation.</p> - -<p>“Come, Doctor,” Miltiades cried, clanking his spurs impatiently. -“Whatever the laws of the State may be, the laws of honour demand that -neither antagonist be a moment behind time. I have the pistols. Be so -good as to hurry your movements.”</p> - -<p>The doctor’s laggard air suggested the gathering of scattered limbs, -and the necessity for adjusting them before a march could be effected. -He looked ruefully at the impassible Agiropoulos, and resented his -impertinent eyeglass and his irreproachable toilet. He looked at the -stern and gallant captain, wavered, and fresh words of protest died in -his throat. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There is no fear of our being discovered and the affair stopped?” he -asked, in the tone of one to whom such a contingency would appear the -worst possible catastrophe.</p> - -<p>“Oh, none whatever,” Miltiades replied, reassuringly.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” ejaculated Selaka, with his heart in his boots.</p> - -<p>Through a similar hour of agony Stavros had passed, and awaited them -with a poor imitation of stoic bearing.</p> - -<p>“If anything happens, don’t forget to send this letter to my brother,” -Selaka entreated, as he tremblingly took the pistol from Miltiades.</p> - -<p>“God have mercy on my soul,” he murmured, firing with closed eyes, and -shot—not his enemy but himself.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XI.</span> <span class="smaller">TENOS.</span></h2> - -<p>Like a roseate jewel in a circle of sapphire, with opal and mauve and -purple lights struck from it by the sun’s rays, lies Tenos upon the -deep and variable bosom of the Ægean waters. The Greek islands seen -from the sea are untiringly, unspeakably beautiful. Shadow and shine, -delicate hues and strong ones melt into an inextricable haze, as do -the sensations of the spectator, incapable of analysis as he watches -them. Energy oozes out through the finger-tips, the pulses quiet in -lazy delight, and the eye is filled for once with seeing. But the heart -is tranquil, unutterably content, and of speech there is no need. Here -at last is forgetfulness of sorrow and unrest. Here is the Eastern -sage’s dream realised, out of the reach of the envenomed shafts of -Fate,—floating indolently on a just stirred field of liquid blue, all -land and sky and water is a harmonious blending of the purest tints. -An infinitude of azure melts by tranquil degrees into milk-white; a -flame as bright as the heart of a pomegranate and blinding as unshaded -carmine, steals insidiously into the mountains of mauve, and changes -them to pink.</p> - -<p>But it is only when your barque draws nigh the sleepy little hollow of -a very sleepy little town, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> you are shaken out of your exquisite -dream of Paradise. You see the harsh subdued contrast of the white -houses and their green jalousies, looking as if they had fallen asleep -in the Middle Ages, and nobody had remembered to awake them since,—a -break of dim barbaric life upon a background of desolate rocks and -empty mountain sides. Tenos is certainly not Paradise. It has a little -pier, and is a perfect maze of misshapen arches, and filthy lanes, -calculated to make the least fastidious stranger shudder in mingled -fear and disgust. There are unsavoury little cafés, outside which, at -all hours of the day, uncouth men, in dirty costumes, sit drinking and -smoking narghiles, which the café-clods carry from one to the other -with the long tubes between their lips, and then pass it to the lips -of their customers, who are vivaciously, and in passionate earnest, -discussing the affairs of Europe, while Providence and the womenfolk -are equal partners in the care of their own.</p> - -<p>But the town, as you skirt the lanes and arches that crowd down upon -the sea-line, has a charm exclusively its own. The tiny streets, when -they are paved, are paved with marble; and the houses on either side -have a cheerful conversational way of reaching across to shake hands -and exchange other amenities. An occasional palm tree lifts itself -up against the pure sky, as do the sails of wind mills, circled like -monster spiders webs. There is music in the trickling descent of the -mountain rills flowing over the marble and silver stones, in and out -of which the lizards, quick with life and the joy of the sunshine, -are ever coming and going. Then there is that singular construction, -the great shrine and pilgrimage of the Virgin of the East, a marble -building<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> containing an expansive courtyard, a square of cloisters and -pilgrim-houses and a curious semi-Byzantine church, full of monstrous -treasures in gold and silver. Over the little town it towers in -glistening splendour, on the top of an inclined street, called “Virgin -Street,” enframed in silver olives and stately palms, and elegantly -paved outside and inside. The sloping way that runs from it right down -to the sea, might be ground of shining snow; it is moss embroidered, -and lit by the double geraniums that look like roses, and shaded by the -gloomy cypress.</p> - -<p>The isle of Tenos has pretensions of its own that it were idle for -us to dispute. It is divided into sixty-two villages, some of which -consist of three churches and four houses, and none show less than -three churches for the accommodation of every dozen inhabitants. -It will be satisfactory for the law-loving reader to learn that -these villages are apportioned into four mayoralties, governed by -one mayor and three justices of the peace, and that,—late crown of -representative existence, until M. Tricoupis cruelly brought in a bill -a year or two ago, which affiliated this “tight little island” with her -near neighbour Andros,—it actually sent three members to Parliament, -to look after its interests in King George’s Boulé at Athens. But all -glory is evanescent. It has been proved by history that it is idle to -place any trust in ministers or princes. Heaven knows why Tenos was -shorn of her parliamentary splendour, but alas! what is to be expected -of an economic minister, who prefers to consider the debts of Hellas -rather than her greatness, and who rashly decided that the work left -undone by three Members of Parliament may be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> efficiently accomplished -by one? The chief and most exasperating neglect of these late -illustrious persons is the formation of roads. There is not a single -road throughout the island, and only two level spots, the lovely plain -of Kolymvithra, and a quarter of a mile round the great purple Castro, -where once the Venetians held their seat of government, their solitary -fortress towering over the ruined little town of Borgo. This oasis of -pathway, in a desert of precipices and rocky altitudes, runs from the -top of the episcopal village of Xinara to the Greek monastery in the -village of San Francisco. It is unknown whether it is a remnant of -Venetian civilisation or of Turkish barbarism. But it is quite certain -that it is not the result of the crown of triple representatives Tenos -until lately wore. For the rest of the time, the rider is conducted by -an unmanageable mule, which indulges a lively weakness for the dizzy -verge of a ravine, along which he phlegmatically picks his way. From -almost perpendicular escarpments he drops into awful depths of rock and -furze and nettle, to trail his anxious and unhappy burden through the -musical bed of a torrent, and damage irretrievably a new pair of boots -by forcing them into an inconvenient affinity with rough walls and -jutting branches.</p> - -<p>After a while, when the frame becomes physically inured to the -sensational extremities of this kind of exercise, the traveller -discovers that, however dreadful the eccentricities of his mule, the -brute is very sure, if leisurely, and that though his position be -invariably a discomposing ascent or descent, no harm to his head or -his limbs will come of it. He gradually learns to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> take his troubles -philosophically, and look about him with perfect security. If it is -evening, he will note the heavenliest sky, and watch the soft mist burn -out the sapphire stealingly, while the strata of gold and rose fade -to pink and pearly opal. He will delight in the contrast of marble -mountain and purple thyme, cyclamens waving the meadows mauve, or -poppies covering them in scarlet flakes, and the tall daisies white -above the green like the foam of the sea, or anemones making a delicate -haze upon the landscape. There will be patches of white heath over the -hill curves, and poignant scents to stir the senses. And in and out -of the twilit gray of the olives, the darkening glance and sparkle of -the sea that is never out of sight,—now laughing through a network -of fig branches, then through the stiff spikes of the cactus, or the -graceful foliage of the plane, and white villages studding the orchards -and gardens like jewels. Over all hangs a strange note of happy -indifference, a rude naturalness that seeks no concealment and cares -not for shadow, hymns the smiles of blue water and the glory of the -sky; the sharp broad beauties of seashore and mountain and valley.</p> - -<p>The people are as simple as their landscape. Their lives are spent in -Arcadian ignorance and unaccomplished simplicity, as unconscious of the -evils of destitution as of the temptation of wealth. They dislike work, -and manage to shirk it, for every one owns a garden, a few fruit trees, -a goat, a pig, and perhaps a donkey. Dirty in their persons, their -houses are invitingly clean, and stand always open.</p> - -<p>Leaving the pleasing altitudes of a general survey, the reader is -invited to fix his gaze upon the little <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>village of Xinara. Two things -strike the observer on entering its single street; the quantity of pigs -and unwashed children, and the signs of desolation and pre-existence -upon the blackened ruins in suggestive proximity with the comparatively -new houses and cottages. Near bright flowers and trellised verandahs, -stand broken walls with fig branches and weeds struggling through a -dismantled window, and curious Venetian symbols and legends wrought in -marble, now black with age and exposure, above the doors and windows -that have long since served the pigeons as convenient shelter. With the -pigs and poultry peeping through the wooden chinks, you see blocks of -marble crusted with gold and silver stones scintillating like flashes -of light. Beside a little glaring church, jaunty in its hideousness, -stand a row of houses burnt yellow and black, as if they had sustained -all the sieges of the Middle Ages, and pierced with pigeon holes like a -face with small-pox.</p> - -<p>The street is divided in two by a dark stone arch. Instead of the -provincial inn, there are three clubs, the blacksmith’s den, the -carpenter’s rude workshop, and the single general store. This is kept -by the village Lothario, Demetrius, a splendid fellow inclining to -corpulency, who wears a ring, a fez, and even goes to the length of -washing his hands and face and combing his hair once a day. One is not -a village Lothario for nothing. He is married, and hence he adds a -disappointed and hopeless air to his fascinating crimson tie whenever -he serves or chats with a woman under forty. But he draws the line at -forty. Kyria Demetrius has attained that respectable age.</p> - -<p>There is a fountain close by, where the women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> gather with red earthen -jars to draw water and indulge in cheerful social intercourse. It is -enclosed in a deep, damp arch, black and lichen-grown, with heavy beams -of wood supporting its roof, and higher up is the public laundry, a -tank with a sloping stone under it, where the laundresses scrub their -linen kneeling round, and converse in a dull undertone, varied by an -occasional tendency to scream.</p> - -<p>The houses are reached by a small flight of marble steps, and are -always confined to one floor with a pretty terrace outside, and -underneath is stabling for the mules and donkeys and other live stock.</p> - -<p>Beyond the archway lies the Catholic Cathedral, with the Bishop’s -Palace and Garden. The Church is of respectable size, but ugly, and -the Palace a dreary yellow building enlivened by the red tiles of the -pectinated roof. But the Bishop’s garden is charming. Goldfinches sing -in the Persian lilacs, and the rippling rills are never silent. In the -centre, there is a big stone tank and a sun-dial, and the oranges swing -like gold balls against the dark cypress. The valley upon which it -looks down is indeed a vale of delight. Olives paint a silver mist upon -the sunny landscape, and the fig and mulberry foliage lend it colour. -The girdling mountains of the neighbouring isles rise sharply against -the sky, and in and out their curves, opening upon the roseate shores -of Eubœa, breaks the sea like lapidescent blue, while through the -moist, grassy plain of Kolymvithra twists and swirls a vein of silver -water. The other side of the picture is a view of gloomy mountain, -bare grey rock and broken blocks of marble, rising above the tangle -of village gardens and trellised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> verandahs, with their showy display -of geraniums, carnations, roses and cactus drapery, from whose bed -of peaked leaves gleam large magenta stars. And here and there the -windmills make gigantic shadows upon the earth, flocks of pigeons shoot -like spots of illuminated snow through the sunlit air, and goats browse -amongst the scented furzes of the rocks, in easy companionship with -mules and kine.</p> - -<p>To reach the house of Pericles Selaka, on the other side of the -village, the traveller must make his own pathway with the loose stones -in the bed of a minute down-flowing stream. The water is crystal-clear, -and nothing can be more engaging than its gurgle and sparkle, but damp -feet are the inevitable consequence of its acquaintance. After a wet -passage through the torrent-bed, more or less torn and troubled by the -neighbourhood of blackberries, thorny hedgerows and tall reeds, he -will have to cut his way through a stony meadow, jump the low, loose -walls that separate each field, tangle his limbs in a multiplicity of -straggling branches and uncultivated growths, and trample ruthlessly -upon the pretty heads of the wild flowers. Every shade in foliage, -and every hue and odour in flower will charm him: the delicacy of the -plane sets off the polished darkness of the oleander and myrtle leaf, -the moist glitter of the maidenhair enriches the ferns that spread -themselves like fans upon the rocks, and along the vine-branches the -shooting leaves begin to uncurl. From the hedges there will be the song -of the linnets and goldfinches, and under them the musical lapping of -water against stones.</p> - -<p>Pericles Selaka’s house had originally belonged to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> Venetian noble -family, and still showed the coat-of-arms wrought in marble on either -side of the gate, with a Latin inscription under a Venetian gondola. It -stood above the village, overlooking the two lovely valleys that divide -the flanks of the empty encircling hills,—hills bare of all but the -glory of their own tint, and the wavering clouds that sweep, soft and -shadowy, over the everlasting sunshine. Behind it the mighty Castro, -proud in its purple and grey desolation, bereft of its old splendour, -but still dominating the island like an acropolis, and in through the -openings of its crags, cleft in nature’s fury, runs the sea as through -a frame. The courtyard into which the gate opened was gemmed with -flowers. In the middle there was a well, and on either side a palm tree -with wooden seats under its shade.</p> - -<p>It was winter, so the vine-roofed verandah was a flood of sunshine. A -short flight of marble steps led to the terrace above, whence Syra, -Delos and Naxos might be seen, as well as the sloping fields that drop -into the torrent below, and Selaka’s orchard and vineyard, which, at -that time, showed pale, slim lines of green just opening upon the brown -earth. A watch-dog dozing in view, lazily observed the regular rise -and fall of the digger’s spade, and only wakened to sharp activity -whenever a venturesome sheep or goat thrust itself upon his notice. -An oppressive silence lay upon the land, and there was silence in the -house whence the terrace opened.</p> - -<p>The room into which you stepped from the terrace was simplicity -itself. White everywhere; white sofas, white curtains and white chair -covers, with a purple<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> table-cloth edged with wonderful Byzantine -embroidery. On a black cabinet there was a goodly display of old Greek -jars and lamps; and inside, a tray of antique coins and exquisitely -carved silver. These heirlooms are to be found in the poorest Teniote -cottages. I have been served by a cottager with water and jam on a -heavy silver tray, the water in a delicate Venetian glass with armorial -bearings wrought in colours into the glass, and the jam in a costly -silver chalice. In a recess there were shelves fitted with the Greek -classics, from which the Latin writers were jealously excluded. Your -scholarly Greek despises Latin. Sitting at a side table beside a -window that looked out upon the Castro, was an old man bent over one -of these classical tomes. He was reading in a leisurely, familiar way, -as a connoisseur sips his port. Occasionally he lifted his eyes from -his book, and removed his black cap, all the while unconsciously and -swiftly rolling up cigarettes, and puffing with the same deliberate -appreciation noticeable in his manner of reading. He was a keen, -thoughtful-looking man, with a curious mingling of black and white in -hair and beard.</p> - -<p>His solitude was interrupted by the entrance of an old woman, dressed -in a garment that may best be described as a black sack. She was a -serene little woman, very tidily built, with an indefatigable and -sturdy air, and in her brown face sparkled two preternaturally black -eyes. She wore a Turkish kerchief of red muslin wound round her head, -and outside this an enormous plait of false hair, as is the ungraceful -habit of the Island women. This was Selaka’s housekeeper and servant in -one. She was called Annunziata. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> - -<p>“This, Kyrie, has just been brought up from the town,” she said, -handing him a telegram.</p> - -<p>Pericles took the telegram, opened it in his leisurely way,—one -naturally grows sleepy on a sleepy island. It was from his brother in -Athens announcing Reineke’s coming. Pericles frowned, and looked more -thoughtful than ever as he read the communication. As may be imagined, -it was neither very delicate nor very wise. It referred to a possible -desirable solution of Inarime’s future.</p> - -<p>“Humph,” said Pericles, and crushed the missive in his hand, “my -brother is sending us a visitor, Annunziata,” he explained, curtly.</p> - -<p>“A visitor! Has your brother taken leave of his senses? Surely the -visitor who proposes to come here cannot be other than a madman,” said -Annunziata, who appropriated the privilege of speaking her mind to her -master.</p> - -<p>“He was always a fool,” assented Pericles; “however, it is essential -that we should sustain our reputation for hospitality; so, my dear -woman, you will be good enough to prepare a room for the guest.”</p> - -<p>“And why should I prepare? Don’t you know that my rooms are always -prepared?” protested Annunziata, hurt in her honour as a housekeeper.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, but there will be sheets to air, and flowers and such things -to put in the room. He is an invalid; and sick men are proverbially -difficult to please. They require as much spoiling as a woman,” said -Pericles, dismissing the subject with a majestic wave of his hand.</p> - -<p>The subject, however, would not be dismissed from his mind, and he -sat there with his open book, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> eyes persistently wandering from -one window to another, looking now out on the bright terrace and -then on the gloomy Castro behind. It was hardly human for a father -not to speculate upon the coming of this stranger, and its possible -consequences. A husband for Inarime! Nonsense! it was not to be -imagined that any stray adventurer, whom his brother might choose to -pick up, could possibly prove a worthy or desirable mate for that -pearl among girls. Besides, he was not prepared to give her to any man -who could not indisputably claim to be a Greek scholar. He knew the -sort of scholars Europe habitually sends to Greece. Self-sufficient -young men or tottering archæologists with a barbaric pronunciation and -a superficial acquaintance with Homer and Plato. These were not the -scholars he desired to know, nor the sort who, under any circumstances, -could prove congenial to him. As for Inarime, she was likely to be -still more fastidious. Her beauty and her great gifts entitled her to -contempt for less gifted mortals. While thinking thus, a shadow crossed -the light of the terrace, and a girl’s form stood framed in the doorway.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XII.</span> <span class="smaller">INARIME.</span></h2> - -<p>Anybody whose travels have led him to the Hellenic shores, knows too -well that the old classic beauty is almost extinct. But not quite. -Here and there, on the islands of the Archipelago, he may chance upon -a face that looks at him out of the other centuries,—stamped with -the grandeur of an unforgotten race in protest against a physical -deterioration that gives it the melancholy charm of isolation. This -vision is rare, but once seen it is beheld with breathless wonder. -There is nothing to compare with it. Other European types of beauty -sink beside it, as do Italian melodies beside a bar of Beethoven. It is -as if over a gray landscape the scarlet dawn broke suddenly, showing an -unhoped-for reality in glowing tints and soft lines no imagination can -picture.</p> - -<p>Lit by the strong sunshine, with the faintest grave smile round her -lovely lips, as she met the puzzled glance of her father, Inarime -looked as if she sprang direct from the Immortals.</p> - -<p>Something like her face the student dreams of, when he muses over the -great Dead. The small dusky head, its blue-black hair, softening to a -tawny sheen at the brows; the olive cheek as smooth as satin, almost -colourless except where it gathers the bloom of the tea-rose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> or of -a shell held to the light. The full firm curves of the mouth, rather -grave than gay, but ineffably sweet, with paler lips than those of -the North; the delicate nose coming down straight from the forehead: -the low arch of the eyebrows, and the curves of the chin that show no -weakness. These details much contributed to the charm of the whole. But -its greatest beauty were the unfathomable eyes—of a deep brown with -an outer ring, which in any joyous mood gave them the gleam of amber, -while sorrow or deep emotion darkened them to the luster of agate. She -wore a dress of dull gold, with a bronze velvet collar and cuffs. The -front of the bodice was trimmed with large bronze buttons. It was not -a dress which Mademoiselle Veritassi would have worn, but then, on the -other hand, it was not a dress that Mademoiselle Veritassi could have -worn. Dowdy it was not, but strange, and looked as if it had grown upon -the young, firm, and supple form it clothed. Inarime had a pardonable -weakness for this most suitable gown. She had worn it constantly since -she had selected it from the merchant who brought the stuff from Syra, -with other splendid materials for the women and young persons of Tenos, -and the dressmaker, who had studied her art in that same elegant -centre, had made it for her. Indeed, she had never a variety of gowns, -nor did she seem to miss this source of happiness. Round her neck hung -suspended by a thin gold chain a little Byzantine cross, a relic of -her mother, and her abundant hair was gathered into a thick coil with -a long golden pin. It may seem strange that I should insist upon these -trivial matters, seeing it is generally considered that young girls -should be thus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> adorned, but it is not so in Tenos, and the artistic -delight Inarime could not have failed to take in her own beauty, apart -from any silly vanity, and with no desire to please the eye of others, -is a very singular deviation from the custom of Greek girls.</p> - -<p>“Have you been waiting for me ever since, father?” she asked. A still -more curious fact, she did not speak the insular dialect, but pure -Athenian, with a faultless accent.</p> - -<p>“Yes, my dear,” said Pericles, addressing her in the same language, -though he had spoken good Teniote to Annunziata. “It is well that you -have come now. I think, my dear, it will be better for you to spend a -few days with your aunt at Mousoulou, and it has occurred to me that -you might go there this afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“But, why? I have no desire to go to Mousoulou,” protested Inarime.</p> - -<p>“Well, if you would just please me in this matter, I cannot tell you -how grateful I should be to you, Inarime,” said her father, who always -treated her as an equal. For this young creature was to him more son -than daughter, since he had brought her up in a masculine fashion, in -the matter of education and training.</p> - -<p>“It is strange, father, that you should turn capricious and mysterious, -but I will obey you in this as in all else,” she said, with an -exquisite gravity which likened her more than ever to a young goddess.</p> - -<p>She was standing close to him now; and he got up, placed his hands upon -her shoulders, and looked earnestly into her eyes.</p> - -<p>“It is no more than I might expect of you, Inarime” he said. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - -<p>There was a dignity, a restraint about the relations of these two that -was very striking. Perhaps Pericles affected the manner and bearing of -the Ancients, with whom he exclusively communed, and perhaps Inarime -had ostentatiously caught this trick from him. Laughter with them was -as rare as anger, and both held their pulses in complete subjection.</p> - -<p>Something of Inarime’s life,—while that lucky young man, known in -Greece as “the man of confidence,” who can be trusted to act as knight -to a lady, is leading her mule to the distant village of Mousoulou, and -while Gustav Reineke, on the “Iris,” is speeding towards the shores -of Tenos. This life is simple enough: unemotional, unanalysable; an -eager student from youngest years, the sole companion of a sage who -lived in the past. But Inarime enjoyed a local reputation that carried -the mind back to antique or mediæval days. The equilibrium of Europe -was not likely to be disturbed by it, but the peace of the island most -certainly was. All things we know are relative, and it is possible the -unknown and unsought conquests of Inarime would have been far enough -from causing any excitement to a London sylph. But besides Inarime’s -influence and reputation, extending over four mayoralties and sixty-two -villages, with a list of suitors headed by a bachelor mayor and the two -unmarried deputies, and including every single man and youth of the -island, the London sylph will be seen to play a small and insignificant -part in her own distinguished circle. She would probably turn up her -patrician nose at the addresses of a shepherd and a barbaric demarch. -But then the shepherd and the demarch would care as little about her. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> - -<p>Despite their inherited and undisguised contempt for women, the sons -of Hellas have sense and taste enough to know the value of an antique -head on live young shoulders. It was now nearly two years since the -mountaineers, meeting on the rocky pathways that scale the crags and -precipices and fringe the torrent-beds, began to ask why Selaka delayed -to choose a son-in-law. Each man regarded himself as the only proper -choice. And down in the <i>cafés</i> the townsfolk and fishermen wanted -an answer to the same question. As a set-off against this suspense, -there was the satisfactory knowledge that Selaka’s choice would -find it no easy matter to bring home his bride. Indeed, a few young -bloods, like Thomaso, the Mayor’s nephew, a quarrelsome fellow given -to an undue consumption of raki, and Petrus Vitalis, whose father’s -recent death left him the proud proprietor of three Caiques, openly -spoke of abduction. Constantine Selaka was aware of all this, and was -extremely anxious that Pericles should select a son-in-law from among -his Athenian friends. Choice and preliminaries should, of course, be a -matter of strict secrecy, as a preventive of warlike explosion, for he -knew that Inarime’s suitors would prove as little amenable to reason -and fair play as the graceless suitors of the unfortunate Penelope.</p> - -<p>And if, by delay, his niece should be carried off by the desperate -Thomaso or Petrus Vitalis, clack! Good-bye to the Athenian -nephew-in-law.</p> - -<p>“Idiots! how dare they aspire to her?” Pericles exclaimed, whenever -such unsuitable proposal reached him.</p> - -<p>“Well, Pericles, you must marry her to somebody,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> and you can’t expect -a Phœbus Apollo, with the classics on the tip of his tongue. You would -find him inconvenient enough,” the less exacting Constantine would -explain.</p> - -<p>“Leave Apollos, though I would have no objection if one were to be had. -But do you seriously expect me to marry a girl like Inarime, as lovely -as Artemis, as learned and wise as Athena, to a clown? A fellow who -gets up at two of a summer morning to shoot inoffensive birds, and gets -drunk upon abominable raki while prating in vile Romanic about politics -and the Lord knows what, of which he understands nothing!”</p> - -<p>“No, but there is Vitalis, the ‘member,’ who wants her.”</p> - -<p>“May the devil sit upon his moustaches for a vulgar blustering fool!” -exclaimed the old man, forgetting Olympus. “What is your Vitalis, -Constantine? A boor. An uneducated lawyer, who could not tell a -verse of Euripides from one of Sophocles; doesn’t, in fact, know -that either existed, and never translated a sentence of Thucydides -in his life. A clown is better. At least he has a dim consciousness -that he is a barbarian. Whereas the other shrunken miserable being in -his ill-fitting clothes and European hat, deems himself the happiest -edition of a boulevardier. Boulevardier, save the mark! France has been -the ruin of us!”</p> - -<p>“Then can’t you take Dragonnis, the other member?”</p> - -<p>“No, I cannot. I don’t want any wretched politician for Inarime. -Dragonnis is as bad as his colleague—a pair of dunderheads. My -daughter will not marry a Teniote, neither will she marry a chattering, -gossiping Athenian.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> Some day I’ll take her abroad, and give her to a -scholar and a gentleman, who will see in her gifts and beauty something -other than the mere decorations of an upper servant and mother of a -family.”</p> - -<p>Inarime had been the subject of disputes of this sort between the -brothers ever since that memorable day when the absence of shots -proclaimed to the village that a little “daughter of man,” instead -of the desired “son of God,” had come to bless the house. To the -friends and relatives, the intrusion of the unappreciated sex was -not, however, looked upon in the light of a blessing. According to -custom, people came and shook the hand of the injured father, condoling -loudly with the sorrowing and disgraced mother. But when Selaka’s wife -died shortly afterwards, and there was no boy on whom he could hope -to bestow his knowledge and learning, the father clung to Inarime. -He resolved to show the world, by his untiring labour, that a girl -may develop remarkable capacity and intellect. He cared little about -modern acquirements, but fed her mind exclusively upon the philosophy, -poetry, and history of her great ancestors. Homer and Hesiod were the -fairy tales of her childhood,—Plutarch the first book she learned -to read. She was familiar with all the ancient dialects and Greek -literature, from the time of Hesiod to the Alexandrian Renaissance. -She was taught to choose the simplest phrasing, and yet one that was -severely academical, from which all foreign interpolations of modern -Greek were expunged. The old calligraphy, too, was insisted upon, and -she wrote papers on the Trilogy from which an infallible University -Don might have learned much. Some of these papers her delighted father -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>contemplated sending to one of the German Universities, where he knew -that the fragrance of original thought and excellent style would be -more justly appreciated than in frivolous Athens. But he feared the -wrench of surrender such recognition from beyond the Ægean might bring. -A girl so perilously gifted might seek to plunge into the waters alone -and swim in depths beyond which his dim eyes and feeble hopes could not -follow. Besides, with him she was completely happy, and publicity is a -misery, a fret and a constant strain upon the nerves.</p> - -<p>Thus she grew up unconscious of solitude or of needs other than those -which her surroundings supplied. As for the accomplishments which -occupy the elegant leisure of European young ladies, she was hopelessly -ignorant: would have been perfectly unserviceable at a suburban -tea-party or a game of tennis, and the popinjays who figure in polite -society would have scorned her, had they attempted to engage her in -conversation suitable to a background of moonlit balcony, or in the -movement of a waltz. But if she could not dance or embroider, and -sing Signor Tosti’s weeping melodies, and if her brown slender hands -looked as if their acquaintance with sun and air was considerably -greater than with kid or Suède, she could carry a water-jar from the -village fountain in an attitude that was a picture of grace, with a -light swinging step that was the music of motion—and this the London -sylph could not have done. Her father was strong upon the necessity for -thorough gymnastic training, and she could swim and run and ride a mile -like a young athlete. Even Greek boys cannot do as much, but then they -are not brought up by antiquated professors, who faithfully copy the -precepts of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> the old philosophers. Selaka, for this athletic training -cultivated a strip of sanded path in his farm near the sea, with the -shade of plane trees for rest. Here Inarime raced and exercised, -sweeping the sanded path with flying feet, and lips parted with the joy -of quick movement and the flush of health crimsoning her olive cheek.</p> - -<p>Outside her books, her racing and riding, she had another important -duty—that of general letter-writer for Xinara and the adjacent village -of Lutra.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIII.</span> <span class="smaller">REINEKE’S ARRIVAL AT XINARA.</span></h2> - -<p>It was a bright December afternoon when Reineke was left by the -<i>Iris</i> upon the little pier at Tenos. Aristides, the “young man -of confidence,” who had safely deposited Inarime at her aunt’s at -Mousoulou, was sent by Selaka to meet him. Gustav inquiringly scanned -his conductor’s face. He disliked its inquisitiveness and keenness, -and was repelled by the familiarity with which the fellow held out -his hand. But he took the hand, and coldly expressed his satisfaction -with his new acquaintance, who explained to him volubly that it would -be advisable to rest a little in the town before ascending to Xinara. -Aristides then proceeded to guide the stranger to a little <i>café</i>, -and Reineke’s visible weakness made even a rest in such a locality -grateful. He sat quietly waiting for some coffee, and looked around. -Being an Eastern, he felt less shuddering repugnance to the place than -an Englishman or Frenchman would have felt. Besides, there was an -acute pleasure to be derived from watching the light flash upon the -blue waters, and gleam upon the lifted oars until they looked like -shining spears. He inferred that Aristides was the son of his host, -and conjectured that he would not be likely to draw very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> largely upon -such resources for intellectual enjoyment. And then, personally, he -disliked the Greeks, as we know. He was not restless or particularly -active, so that he could comfortably get through a couple of hours in -this indolent contemplation. But it was with a sense of relief that he -saw Aristides approach with a mule upon which he was invited to mount, -and slowly they made the difficult ascent. To a strong man such a ride -would be discomposing in the extreme; to a man still in the clutch of -an intermittent fever it was positive torture. It seemed to Reineke -that the attitude of the beast was a constant perpendicular, now -with its head for apex and now with its tail and this sort of motion -continued a good hour and a half. The musical flow of the torrent beds -and the echo of distant waterfalls were heard mingling with varied -bird-notes. But how to take æsthetic pleasure in these sounds when one -is momentarily expecting to be hurled into eternity, or, at least, -in peril of leaving various limbs about the precipices and ravines; -now frantically clutching forward and then almost prone backwards to -preserve one’s balance!</p> - -<p>Little by little, however, his senses began to recover, and he was able -to take occasional glimpses of the strange landscape through which he -was being hurled. The gathering twilight was dimming the pure air, but -had not yet struck out the colours that lay upon the land. The meadows -were full of wild flowers, and he noted how beautiful some of the weeds -were. The bloom of the fields and the gray mist of the olives, and the -purple haze that lay upon the fig branches, tracing their intricate -pattern across the silent hills and making their own pathway for the -shadows, charmed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> him. The sparkle and murmur of water, the departing -smile of sunshine from the darkening heavens, the early stir of -shepherd life, an air so fine that every scent from valley and hillside -was discernible from the mingled whole, filled him with a sense of -exquisite content. And when he saw the beautiful valley of Kolymvithra -unfolded like a panorama under the village of Xinara, and the great -purple Castro lost in evening shade, he felt that his perilous ride had -not been in vain.</p> - -<p>As they rode up the little village street, Demetrius and his satellites -were standing outside the blacksmith’s den. The presence of a stranger -naturally diverted their thoughts from the rascalities of the Prime -Minister at Athens, which they had been discussing.</p> - -<p>“That, I suppose, is an Englishman,” said the handsome Demetrius, -removing his cigarette, and staring hard at Reineke with an air of -ill-concealed discontent, as he addressed himself inclusively to -Michael, the contemplative carpenter, and Johannis, the blacksmith.</p> - -<p>“He is too dark for an Englishman; it is most likely he’s an Italian,” -suggested the carpenter, in a tone of apologetic protest.</p> - -<p>“You fool! do you think that every Englishman is yellow-haired and -white and red?” retorted Demetrius, snappishly. “But you are not going -to deny, I hope, that the man has the conceited air of an Englishman? -No other people carry themselves as if the world belonged to them, and -those that are not English do not count. And what is all this pride -for, pray? Ten of their heroes would not make one of ours.”</p> - -<p>“Very true, Demetrius,” concurred Michael, conciliatorily. “If England -had produced one Miltiades,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> we might all go hang ourselves, for no -other nation would be allowed to exist. Now here are we good-natured -Greeks, who count our heroes by the hundred, and know ourselves to be -the point upon which the world, both occidental and oriental, turns, -quietly smoking our cigarettes, and willing to allow others a part -of the pathway. Whereas an Englishman, when he goes abroad, walks -down other people’s streets as if he thought himself merciful in only -knocking the owners into the shade instead of crushing them.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I can’t say I am for England either,” said Johannis, diving his -hands into the pockets of his blue cotton pantaloons. “I always thought -she was too fond of helping herself to parts of the globe which she had -no right to, and of battering others into submission. But it cannot be -denied that she is very rich and sufficiently attentive to the affairs -of Greece. London, I hear on first-class authority, is a wonderful -place. You know Marengo, the captain of the <i>Iris</i>, stayed there a -week; but he never once ventured out of the hotel alone, so frightened -was he by the noise and the people. He solemnly swears he saw fifty -trains steaming in and out of the station at the same time. It sounds -incredible, but Marengo is positive. He counted thirty, but his head -grew dizzy, though he saw he had only got through half the number. When -driving he had to keep his eyes and ears closed, expecting every minute -to be killed by the thousand cabs that whizzed round him as quick as -lightning. He could not understand how the people managed to cross the -streets, some of them a mile in width!”</p> - -<p>“You may believe half of what Marengo says,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> Johannis,” cried -Demetrius, “he is an unconscionable liar. However, I have certainly -been assured that London is a largest kind of town, perhaps a little -more extensive than Athens, but then I never believe all I hear. I like -to judge things for myself. Not that I have seen Athens either; but -I believe it to be the finest city in the world. Why, was not Athens -founded long before London or Paris were heard of? Do not people come -every day from America to see it, and guardians have to be placed -about the Acropolis to prevent strangers robbing its stones or relics? -I would be glad if you could name a Greek who would go to London or -America for a relic!”</p> - -<p>Demetrius looked as if he had sufficiently clinched the matter. If -travellers come to Greece for a purpose which certainly does not -inspire the Greeks to go to foreign parts, it clearly proves the -advantage on the side of Greece.</p> - -<p>“True enough, Demetrius,” assented Michael, “and do we not know that -Mr. Gladstone, the Prime Minister of England, is more anxious for -our safety than that of his own people? And he would gladly exchange -London for Athens to-morrow if he could, and mind you, he has seen both -places. If we go to war this year, depend upon it, Mr. Gladstone will -send us men enough to smash the Turks.”</p> - -<p>“We will accept England’s aid when we need it,” said the village -Lothario, condescendingly, with a dramatic gesture, as he threw away -the end of his cigarette. “But we know very well that three hundred -Greeks are more than a match for ten thousand Turks, as they were for -the Persians in the olden days.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> - -<p>Demetrius, you will perceive, was learned, and that was why he was -president of the clubs.</p> - -<p>“Where are you going shooting to-morrow?” asked Johannis, who knew -nothing about the Persians, and resented their introduction with the -unreasonable jealousy and bigotry of ignorance.</p> - -<p>“I am going to shoot round Koumara,” said Demetrius, testily.</p> - -<p>“It’s poor shooting you’ll get there,” remarked Johannis. “I am going -to Mousoulou. I shot a lot of wild pigeons there last Sunday and bagged -larks and sparrows by the dozen.”</p> - -<p>In the meantime, through a running fire of continual comment, and -under the gaze of every pair of eyes the village possessed, Reineke, -conducted by the cheerful and voluble Aristides, was led down the -torrent and round by the windmill upon the brow of the hill, to the -little postern gate which led into Selaka’s vineyard. He was so -exhausted that in dismounting he had to lean heavily upon Aristides, -and slowly walked up the sloping path to the gate. It was opened by -Annunziata, who flashed him a delightful smile of welcome, and at -that moment Selaka himself hastened forward, and shook him cordially -by the hand. But Reineke was too weak and fatigued to do more than -smile faintly, and murmur some unintelligible phrase, upon which he -was helped into the house, and there collapsed at once upon the sofa. -Here we will leave him in the sleep of complete exhaustion, feeling -shattered and bruised and as if a week’s sleep would be insufficient to -recuperate him.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIV.</span> <span class="smaller">(<i>From Reineke’s Note Book.</i>)</span></h2> - -<p class="bold">MUTE ELOQUENCE.</p> - -<p>Contrary to my expectations, I awoke on the morning after my arrival -at Xinara refreshed, with only that sensation of fatigue in the limbs -that makes it delightful to lie perfectly still and revel in the luxury -of homespun and lavender-perfumed sheets. The bed was the softest I -ever slept on, the room the prettiest and freshest I ever wakened in. -Such light, such a cheerful display of linen as everywhere greeted my -eyes! In the garden, by the drawn blind, I could see Persian lilacs, -in which the birds had evidently built their nests, and down among the -trees of the orchards thousands of others seemed to have congregated. -The effect of their <i>aubade</i> on this lovely winter morning was curious. -It began by a soft twitter, which gradually deepened its volume, until -it swelled upon mighty waves and beat frantically against the silver -gates of the morning in a shower of sound. It shook the closed shutters -like hail that lashes the earth outside. In the half haze of troubled -sleep, I imagined, at first, that the heavens had suddenly opened -in an unwonted downpour, but as soon as I was thoroughly awake, and -glanced upon the dim world which slowly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> unfolded beneath the light -of the breaking day, I understood and recognised the cause of this -patter against the panes. The increasing red of the east began to sweep -across the pallid sky, washed the lingering moon white, and enriched -the zenith with a dash of warm blue. I got up and opened the nearest -window, and then lay back to follow the movement of that impetuous -swell of music, sustained with exquisite orchestral harmony. The sound -seemed to travel round and round in a circle, continuously gathering -force, and then burst into a flood of song. An indistinguishable tumult -of wave with ever this strange, perpetual, circuitous movement, as if -all the birds of all the gardens and woods had met, and were whirling -round and round this spot of earth in some mad dance of wing. I think -I must have slept again, or perhaps I lay in an open-eyed dream for -some time. When I looked once more out of the window, I saw the bright -pleasant little woman, who had welcomed me the night before, walk -sturdily down the path that leads to the village, with her red water -jar placed on her shoulder, one muscular brown arm flung round her -head to support it. What a pleasure it was to watch her! She looked so -secure, so contented, so seriously active, and there was a light in -her eye which betrayed something more than cheerfulness,—a sense of -humour, and a kind of still laugh just traced the faintest sympathetic -line round the mouth. I supposed her to be the mother of that -intolerable youth who had led my mule last night, and who served me as -guide in my most memorable ride.</p> - -<p>My restful solitude was broken by the entrance of Annunziata, carrying -a little tray with coffee, an <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>inviting roll called Koulouria, and some -cigarettes. She placed it beside me, and then touched my hand softly, -and stood and smiled upon me with maternal benignity.</p> - -<p>“You are rested, Kyrie?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Quite fresh, and ready for another ride,” I answered, laughing.</p> - -<p>When I had partaken of this sober fare, she begged me to be still -awhile, and held a light and a cigarette for me. I am fond enough of a -recumbent attitude, and nothing loth, accepted the proffered sedative. -Then she trotted off with her inimitable air of sturdy serenity, and -hardly had she left me to my own contented thoughts when the door -opened, and in walked Aristides. Is it not unreasonable to dislike a -man, for no other reason than that his exterior and certain tricks -of manner revolt you? The fellow is really a decent fellow, but he -has a way of lifting the pressure of his lithe frame from one foot to -another, and of running his forefinger along his shapely nose, that -provokes me to the verge of exasperation. I watch for these tricks -with an unaccountable impatience, and when they come, I am invariably -harassed with the suppressed impetuosity of physical rage, and expect -before long to fling something at him. He entered the room with an -air of polished familiarity, took a chair, uninvited, as if he were -a prince of the blood whose condescension singularly honoured me, -and smiled in large affability and tolerance as he began to roll a -cigarette. After a pause he remarked casually, with a very apparent -desire to set me at ease:</p> - -<p>“Vera nice counthry, Ingland, like vera much I do Ingleesh—large -place, I hear.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<p>I nodded, and patiently waited to learn why I should be attacked in -execrable English.</p> - -<p>“I knew Ingleeshman in Smyrna. He vera nice man, touch vera well piano. -You touch piano?”</p> - -<p>I admitted an innocent weakness that way, and continued to smoke -complacently, tickled by the humour of the situation.</p> - -<p>“You are Ingleesh, sarr?”</p> - -<p>“I have not that honour.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, vous êtes Français?”</p> - -<p>I failed to claim that great and much belauded nationality, whereupon -Aristides, indefatigable in the pursuit of knowledge, and anxious to -confound me with his linguistic skill, burst out radiantly:</p> - -<p>“Sie sind Deutsch.”</p> - -<p>“If you will condescend to speak your own language and spare me your -exasperating murder of Continental tongues, it may be of some slight -advantage to you and me,” I cried.</p> - -<p>My unaccustomed violence in nowise discomposed him. He proved his -philosophic superiority by blandly smiling, as if to turn aside a wrath -he considered childish and inconsequent, rolled another cigarette, -leant forward, lit it, and observed, with an air of casual approval, -that it was a pleasing surprise to meet a foreigner who could speak -Greek. He then proceeded to question me with the savage candour and -curiosity of his race. He was eager to learn my income, its source, -the cost of the clothes I wore, if they were purchased in Paris or -in London, if I admired the Greeks and Greece, if I were married, or -disposed to marry a Greek, if my parents were alive, and how many -brothers and sisters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> I had. To those singular questions I replied -curtly, contemptuously resolved to see how far he would push his -indiscreet investigations. Then when I grew tired, I proceeded to -obtain a little information on my own account. From the communicative -Aristides I learned that the amiable doctor, who so wisely recommended -me the bosom of nature and innocence, is for inscrutable reasons -recognised as the King of Tenos, that he is a member of King George’s -Parliament, and by claim of obstruction unillumined by a rushlight of -intelligence or motive, is called the Parnell of Greece.</p> - -<p>My host, it appears, is a more interesting character. His attitude -towards the moderns is that of unsparing contempt. He lives with the -ancients, and entertains a very lively horror of that superior people, -the French. His daughter is reputed to be a handsome and cultivated -young woman, to whose hand every unmarried male of the island aspires. -She has an exquisite name, Inarime. When I got rid of Aristides, I lay -back and conjectured a variety of visions of the owner of such a name. -In turn I dismissed from my mind the amiable maiden, the attractive -peasant girl, the chill statue and the haughty pedant, the Arab, the -Turk, the Italian of the Levant. Not one of these seemed to fit in with -my ideal of Inarime, and the thought that she had left Xinara before my -arrival fretted me strangely with a sense of baffled desire.</p> - -<p>“Just an old pagan philosopher,” Aristides had said, speaking of -Selaka, “who keeps the handsomest girl of Tenos locked away from -everyone, as if a glance were a stain. He seems to regard her as a -goddess,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> and nobody here worthy to look upon her divinity. That is -why he sent her away before you came. He distrusts you and every other -Christian. Now, if you happened to be a Pagan, I have not the slightest -doubt he would be willing to marry you right off to Inarime.”</p> - -<p>Why should this impertinent suggestion of Aristides have shot the blood -of anger and shame into my face? And yet it did, and the heat remained -after the fellow had left me to my own reflections. I do not think that -I am specially nervous or sensitive, but the shock of that idea touched -me with a force that made me shrink as from a prophecy. I dreaded to -meet Inarime, and almost resented her exile on my account. There may -be something flattering to our masculine vanity in the fact that a -beautiful girl has been sent into banishment on our account, but this -balsam did not heal a certain dull ache of dismay and resentment.</p> - -<p>In this unreasonable mood Selaka found me. He inquired after my health -with measured courtliness, and suggested a variety of additions to my -comfort. I was dressed now, and reclining on a sofa. Without hesitation -I followed his advice to breathe the air of the terrace awhile. The -broad sunshine and the open-air serenity of the scene soothed and -calmed me, and I felt I could have been content to sit thus for hours -watching the flapping shadows of the windmills upon the sunny hills, -under the spell of the noon-day silence of nature. My host sat beside -me, the inevitable cigarette between his fingers, with a sharp but -kindly glance turned occasionally upon me. I imagine the question of -my nationality was perplexing him, and he was,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> perhaps, seeking an -occasion to elicit direct information from me on this point. But this -did not conceal from me that the normal expression of his fine dark -eyes showed the glow of an impersonal enthusiasm, doubtless lit by -his long devotion to the ancients. By reason of his rough-hewn and -unfinished features, he looked rather a simple good-natured peasant, -removed from the sordid conflict and merely animal sensations of -husbandry, than a learned pedagogue or an earth-removed philosopher; a -man fond of questioning the stars and his own soul, but not indifferent -to the delights of shepherd-life; capable of sparing a daisy and -stepping out of the way of a burdened ant, when he walked abroad with -Plato or Thucydides in his hand. It struck me that Inarime could be -no vulgar glittering jewel to be thus carefully shielded from the -irreverent gaze by this sage of Tenos.</p> - -<p>“I think you cannot be French,” he said, at last.</p> - -<p>“Reineke is a German name,” I answered, evasively, for it was not my -wish to court coldness by an avowal of my nationality.</p> - -<p>“Ah, it is well. I do not like the French.”</p> - -<p>“And yet your countrymen adore them,” I said, and laughed.</p> - -<p>“So they do, so they do—to their sorrow and shame.”</p> - -<p>“How can that be? Is France not admittedly the first nation of the -civilised world?” I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“That depends upon what is understood by civilisation. If you mean -humbug, vice, vanity and bluster, infamous plays and vaudevilles, -immoral literature generally, you may crown France with a triple crown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> -of shameless glory. But if you mean truth, good manners, purity, sense -and honourable restraint in all things, as the old world understood it, -then France is below all other countries to-day. It is because Greece -is so infatuated with France that I completely despair of her future.”</p> - -<p>“It seems to me that you are charging an innocent country with the -vices of a depraved town. France is not Paris, and Paris is the sinner.”</p> - -<p>“Paris! France! It is one. The country looks on complacently, and -approves the nameless follies of the city. It makes no effort to impede -her fatal career, and is not dismayed to see her, with her band of -lascivious poets and novelists, dance madly towards her doom, in the -degradation of decay, with a weak and dissolute smile on her worn lips.”</p> - -<p>“Do you condemn all her writers?”</p> - -<p>“Upon moral and artistic grounds I condemn all unreservedly. You are -one of those who, perhaps, call Victor Hugo great. I do not. ‘Words, -words, words,’ as Hamlet says, and nothing to come at them. Chip away -all the superfluous decorations and excrescences of ‘Notre Dame,’ and -measure it by the severe restrictions of Greek Art. You have twenty -pages, strengthened, purified, with only essential action and speech, -instead, of two long volumes of intolerable verbiage. No, sir; France’s -sentence has been pronounced. One day Germany will sweep her away, -with her vices and her graces, and they, I admit, are many. She is -in a debilitated and anæmic state, starting up in spasms of febrile -vitality, and the sooner her destiny is accomplished, the better for us -and all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> other such feebly imitative peoples. Have you stayed long in -Athens?”</p> - -<p>“No, in fact I have seen nothing as yet of the town.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, then you have yet to learn why I, and every true lover of Greece, -should hate the name of France. The men and women in Athens speak bad -Greek, though there is no reason why their speech should not be as -pure as Plutarch’s. Every one chatters in bad French, with what object -it would puzzle the Lord himself to discover. The women rave about -Ohnet, a vulgar writer whose style even I can know to be execrable. -Like the illustrious Hugo, the men read Zola, and are thereby much -improved. There are French vaudevilles and <i>cafés-chantants</i>; our -army is superintended by Frenchmen, who draw large salaries for the -privilege of laughing at us. Paris condescends to send our women its -cast-off fashions at enormously disproportionate prices. Athens is, in -fact, a small, dull, feeble Paris,—Paris in caricature, without the -fascination of its many-sided life.”</p> - -<p>He stopped suddenly, half-ashamed and slightly flushed after his burst -of indignation. When we had smoked a cigarette apiece, I made careless -mention of his brother, and asked about his family. Constantine, he -told me, had long ago married a handsome Levantine who, after a few -months of conjugal discord, had attempted to shoot him, and then -betaken herself to Constantinople with a native of Syra. This disaster -had naturally tended to convince Constantine of the nothingness of -marriage, and he had since remained in single inconsolation. Pericles -himself had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> been blessed with a wife, picked up at Ischia, as lovely -in soul as in body, but here again was demonstrated the singular -fleetingness of wedded bliss. This pearl among wives melted away in the -crucial test of childbirth—and Selaka was left, bereaved and truly -forlorn, with a baby girl upon his hands.</p> - -<p>Later on in the afternoon Selaka joined me, just as my senses were -lazily shaking themselves out of the thrall of siesta. He asked me if I -were interested in the study of ancient Greek, and upon my enthusiastic -affirmative, his face brightened and his manner immediately assumed a -cordiality and a pleasure that charmed me. He invited me to accompany -him in his walk through his orchard and vineyard; and truly a delight -it was to me to be brought face to face with a nature so simple and -a mind so exquisitely cultivated as his. Perhaps it would be thought -that such exclusive recognition of the past and such a profound and -unutterable contempt for the present were narrow and pedantic. That -it tended to lessen his interest in humanity cannot be denied. But -how very precious, from sincerity and undecorated speech, were the -thoughts to which he gave expression during our leisurely walk! Much as -I delighted, however, in the ancients, and deeply interesting as was -any discussion upon the old Greek writers, I could not get out of my -head the one word “Inarime.” I was haunted with the wish, nay, almost -the need, to hear something of her, and at last, after a pause in our -conversation, I hazarded the question:</p> - -<p>“Is your daughter married?”</p> - -<p>Selaka fixed me with a quick, suspicious glance, and said, coldly, </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My daughter is young; it will be time enough yet to think of marrying -her!”</p> - -<p>“Then she does not live with you?” I persisted, with pardonable -indelicacy.</p> - -<p>“She is at present staying with her aunt at Mousoulou,” said Selaka.</p> - -<p>I ought to have let the subject drop upon these strong hints, but I -went on:</p> - -<p>“I am told she is very beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“You have been told the truth,” said Selaka.</p> - -<p>I saw that further questioning would be indiscreet. However discursive -he might be upon the subject of the ancient Greeks, his reticence upon -the subject of Inarime was not to be shaken.</p> - -<p>Thus passed my three first days in Xinara. Aristides invariably -wounded and offended me by his impertinent freedom and his still more -impertinent confidences. It appears Aristides is one of Inarime’s -admirers, and being promoted to the rank of chief muleteer to his -mistress, naturally regards himself as having scored above all his -rivals. The early morning was generally spent by me in exploring the -neighbouring hills alone. In the afternoon I accompanied Selaka round -his small estate. A tranquil, healthy existence it was, and under its -influences my late fever and languor left me. With recurrent health -I gained in vitality and spirits, and had I not been pursued by an -indefinable curiosity—a sense of baffled hope,—I should ere this have -been measuring my forces for a return to Athens.</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * *</p> - -<p>It was the fourth day since my arrival from Tenos,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> when I opened -the door of the bright sitting-room with the intention of passing -an hour or two among Selaka’s choice books. Looking out upon the -desolate Castor,—seeming the more desolate because of the cruel -joy of the sunshine that so ruthlessly exposed its empty flanks, my -ear was attracted by the sound of hysterical sobbing and half-angry -expostulation, that came from the courtyard through the opposite open -window. I walked across the room, wondering what could have happened -to disturb the active serenity of Annunziata. My eyes fell upon a -village woman, whose withered, sunburnt face was lifted in tearful -prayer to another, who sat with her back to me, leaning over a little -table. There was something exquisitely youthful and gracious in the -attitude,—of majestic youth in the line of the figure clad, as I could -see, in some dark yellow stuff. But the small head was completely -hidden in a muslin kerchief of spotless white, with a Turkish border of -yellow and crimson.</p> - -<p>There was a restraint and firmness—an unconscious grace in the pose, -and I felt my pulses quicken with eagerness to see the face. Could this -be a young judge measuring awful depths of iniquity in a criminal? A -cold Diana reproving undue tenderness, a wise Athena rebuking folly? I -listened. The villager’s brogue and voluble utterances were difficult -to follow. But I gathered that there was question of a letter that had -been written, and that the dictator’s mind had altered, and that she -now wanted one written in an entirely different spirit.</p> - -<p>“I am so sorry, Kyria. He will never come back to me if he gets that -letter, and what does anything <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>matter to me as long as he remains -away? Tell him that I am not angry with him; that I will bear anything -rather than that he should not come back to me. If he would only leave -her and come away from Smyrna! Tell him anything, young lady, that will -touch him,—I am so lonely, so weary of waiting for him!” I heard the -woman say.</p> - -<p>“But, my poor woman, what proof have I that, if I rewrite the letter -in this new mood, you will not be sorry for the leniency in another -hour, and implore me to write an angrier letter for you?” The voice -was clear and soft, with a curious throat sound that somehow carried -with it the idea of velvet. Something in it seemed to draw me with an -ache of desire to see the speaker. I acted upon an unaccountable and -irresistible impulse. It compelled me in a kind of dreamy expectation -down the marble steps, and, standing with my hand upon the top of the -pillar, close to her, my intense gaze was an equal compulsion to her.</p> - -<p>She moved her head round slowly, and our eyes met. Was it the shock -of recognition, the awful bliss of surprised surrender, the force of -revelation, undreamed, unawaited, yet not the less complete because of -its suddenness, that held our glances in a steady dismay?</p> - -<p>I laid down my arms at once happy, contented, prone, in a sacred -servitude; but she, I could divine, with the delicate instinct of -maidenhood, strove to struggle and release her soul. But no effort of -even her imperious will could move her eyes from mine, upon which they -rested in the mute eloquence of dazzled entreaty, shining as if they -were filled with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> light. And then slowly their golden hue faded into a -wistful brown, and slowly, grudgingly drooped their lids,—and mine, as -if by instinct, dropped. It was only afterwards that I could remember -the glory of her resplendent youth, and dwell upon the flash of her -great beauty.</p> - -<p>She laid her hand upon the head of the kneeling, sobbing woman, and -said:</p> - -<p>“I cannot write your letter to-day, Katinko, but come to me at -Mousoulou,” and then turning, looked at me again, this time with -less trouble and dismay through the unfathomable tenderness of her -gaze,—looked at me steadily, commandingly, unconsciously reminding me -that she was sovereign lady, and that not one inch of her sovereignty -would she forego for me. I humbly accepted the dismissal of her eyes, -without a word of protest or prayer, though the pulses of my body -rang with frantic urgence for both. I stood to let her pass me, and -was strong enough to resist the temptation to touch her hand as a -suppliant might, to prostrate myself before her as a servant. But no; -our attitude must be that of equals, something told me. If she be queen -then must I be king; sovereign, too. Not servant, Inarime. King of you, -as you, beloved, are henceforth queen of me!</p> - -<p>I went to my room and tried to think. But thought was vain as action—I -could only feel. Feel that I had seen Inarime; that my soul had touched -hers; that there was henceforth no life apart for either of us. While -I sat thus, dismantled of reality, and full of an overpowering joy, -I heard the harsh voice of Aristides checking the impetuosity of his -mule, and the words<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> “Kyria” and “Mousoulou” caught my wandering -attention.</p> - -<p>I drew near to the window in a thrill of alarm. Inarime was seated on -the mule, with no other shelter from the beating sunbeams than the -white kerchief bound round her head. A strong impulse swept through me -to forbid this departure, to cry out passionately against the injustice -of flight and desertion. But this folly would but imperil my position. -What right had I to usurp authority and claim upon the surprised -declaration of her eloquent eyes? And there came upon me a sense of the -perfect tact of her action, its true fitness in accord with the dignity -of her sex. Pursuit was for me,—not flight, but a delicate, cold -aloofness was hers by divine privilege. Not other would I have her than -sensitively alive to the gracelessness of serene and easy conquest. And -I was not hurt, was I, by this withdrawal from the new light of day, -for her will must ever now be my own.</p> - - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XV.</span> <span class="smaller">(<i>From Reineke’s Note Book.</i>)</span></h2> - -<p class="bold">A SILENT BETROTHAL.</p> - -<p>When I joined Selaka in his afternoon stroll, he appeared to notice -something different in my step and in my eyes. I felt myself as if I -sprang rather than walked, and my glance saw nothing distinctly that -it rested upon: it was impeded and clouded by the intense illumination -from within. Yet never before did the bare, sunny hills look to me more -lovely; never did the Greek isles, rising above their happy waters like -rose and mauve clouds upon a blue sky, seem more dreamily enchanting. -I remember nothing of our conversation. I walked beside the old man, -drunk with my own speechless bliss, and answered his questions at -random. And all the while my soul sang aloud its pæan, and the whole -earth seemed to smile upon me out of one girl’s grave luminous gaze. -Inarime! It seemed to me that the sweet air trembled with the shaking -impulses of my intemperate gladness.</p> - -<p>Two days passed thus. Blind and absent as I was, I could remark the -sullen suspicion of Aristides’ manner, no longer vexing with its -impertinent familiarity, but repulsing me with insolent sullenness. I -paid no heed to this childishness. But I was struck with the fellow’s -extraordinary penetration. Whence could he have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> divined there was -aught in me to fear or distrust? There was something of the extreme -fineness and subtlety of the animal instinct in his intuition, which -completely eluded my observation. But Annunziata simply attributed -my restored strength and serene joy to the notoriously beneficial -influences of mountain air. She always greeted me with her cordial -smile, and sometimes ventured to pat my hand in a motherly way. I -delighted in her noiseless activity, and in her sturdy self-reliance. -Tears for self I should imagine had never dimmed her bright black eyes, -and the lines time had traced upon her brown forehead were not lines of -pain and mental travail, but the marks of healthy, contented labour. -It was a lesson to watch her carry her water jar from the village -fountain, or lay the table, without hurry or anxiety, with the perfect -ease of punctuality and order. Selaka, I felt, was studying me, half in -perplexity, half in alarm, yet with increasing approval. He liked me, -and with the days grew his cautious esteem into precipitate affection.</p> - -<p>On the third day from my meeting with Inarime, he joined me in the -early morning, as I sat upon the terrace, smoking and revelling in the -lovely air. My heart could no longer bear this silence and separation, -and my tongue at last resolved to give utterance to its urgent claim.</p> - -<p>“Will your daughter remain much longer at Mousoulou?” I asked, -conscious that my voice was unsteady from eagerness.</p> - -<p>“I have not yet decided,” said Selaka quietly.</p> - -<p>“Kyrie Selaka, I have a favor to ask you—the very greatest one man can -ask another.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> - -<p>I looked round into his face as I spoke, and knew I was pale to the -lips.</p> - -<p>“You wish to see my daughter,” said Selaka gravely.</p> - -<p>“Nay, I have seen her. I want you to take me to her.”</p> - -<p>The old man sat for awhile motionless as a statue, then he rose, and -paced the terrace in severe and anxious reflection.</p> - -<p>After a pause, that seemed to me interminable, he stopped in front of -me, and looked in silence into my eyes. He shook back his head, as if -he had come to a supreme decision, placed one hand on my shoulder, and -held his beard with the other.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” he asked, and then sat down beside me.</p> - -<p>“That is not worthily said, Kyrie Selaka,” I could not help exclaiming, -reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“I see. You think I should ask ‘why’ rather than ‘why not,’” said -Selaka, smiling softly. “And you are right; it is ‘why?’”</p> - -<p>“Why?” I cried, impetuously, “because I love her, because I am hers, -and she, I know, is mine.”</p> - -<p>“Gently, my son, gently,” he interposed, laying his hand soothingly -upon mine. “It seems to me that for a German you possess a pretty -lively and reckless temperament. That having looked upon my daughter, -her beauty should fire your young blood with romantic aspirations, is -but natural. That you should ardently wish to see her again, is as it -should be. But that you should hurl yourself with desperate passion -into this rash and unconsidered decision that you are hers and Inarime -is yours—my son, my son, it is not thus that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> I desire Inarime should -be loved. From stormy scenes and the tempestuous fluctuations of -passion would I jealously guard her, as from other noxious influences. -The state of romantic love I regard, in common with all serious -thinkers, as the very worst and most degraded state of bondage into -which man can fall. It is equally unreasonable in its sickening -depressions and in its passionate anticipations. I can see that it is -only fruitful in cruelty, in folly, in stupidity, in crime and reckless -blunders. Its miseries are immeasurable, and grievously restricted is -its circle of joys.”</p> - -<p>“But surely, sir, it was with this kind of romantic love that you loved -your wife, Inarime’s mother,” I retorted.</p> - -<p>“It was not so, my son. I loved her with the priceless affection -that is based upon tranquil knowledge, upon spiritual affinity and -inalterable esteem. Had the Gods left her to me, very jealously would -I have sought to preserve her from the wintry winds of sorrow and -poverty, and harsh experiences. Dear to me was she, as a complete -blessing, and profound was my grief when she was taken from me. But I -did not pursue her with the unthinking ardour of a burning desire, nor -was my soul consumed in its fires. I saw that she was good and serene, -and her beauty was an added charm. I sought her in the noontide of -life, as one seeks shade in the noontide of day.”</p> - -<p>“But, sir, I beseech you, do not judge us all by this high and inhuman -ideal. We cannot all be sages. The passions will speak with terrible -insistence in youth, however heavy a chain of habit and restraint -may encompass them, and I cannot think there is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> aught unworthy or -degrading in their petulant voice. We love not the less nobly and -purely because passion is the font from which our love springs. If -it prompts imperious exactions, may it not be that it urges sublime -devotions? Man has nobly died for the sake of that romantic love you -condemn, and what sacrifice can be finer than a woman’s surrender to -it?”</p> - -<p>“There should be neither sacrifice nor death. Reasonable beings should -strive to meet and fulfil the decrees of destiny, in measure and calm -acceptance of the laws of nature; not upon any violent urgence of the -emotions, allow themselves to be swept away and precipitated into -depths like powerless leaves whipped by the blast.”</p> - -<p>“But if I recognise the decree of destiny that commands me to love -Inarime, must I not obey it?”</p> - -<p>“Be temperate; that is all I ask of you. Be just, too, and as little -foolish and indiscreet as it is possible for a young man so blinded as -you are,” said Selaka, and I thought he did not look extremely offended -or discomposed by my impulsiveness.</p> - -<p>“And when will you consent to put my discretion and my wisdom to the -proof?” I persisted.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow morning we will go to Mousoulou.”</p> - -<p>To-morrow, Inarime, to-morrow! That was all I could think of as I sat -and counted the hours, and my heart now sank within me in the complete -prostration of yearning, and then rose to intoxicating heights upon -the splendid wings of promise. I walked up and down the terrace all -night, and watched the stars, as glorious and varied as the hopes that -sprang and wavered and clamoured around me. Oh, the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>stillness, the -soft yet sharp enchantment of a night-watch upon an Ægean island! The -distant murmur of the restless sea breaks the silence of the land, and -the shadowy hills fall into the dense veil of the valleys. The charm -enters the soul like a pang, and it works upon the quickened senses -with the subtle mingling of exasperation, of poignant and tranquil -feelings. I felt chill as the twilight crept slowly over the night, -and the stars began to pale and drop, one by one, out of the dim sky, -like extinguished lamps, tracing a faint milky-way where their blue -and golden illumination had been. Then quickly shot into the eastern -horizon an arch of blood-red cloud, and showed the sea silver beneath -it, and over this scarlet bridge appeared the sun, like a ball of -living light ready to explode upon the pallid scene. And then the birds -of the orchard began their piercing harmonies, and the wide spears of -the grasses glistened with their crystal gathering of the night-dews. -Day had come; my day, Inarime, and yours.</p> - -<p>Contact with cold water did duty for sleep. I felt quite refreshed when -I entered the little sitting-room where the coffee and Koulouria were -served.</p> - -<p>“You are early,” said Selaka, greeting me with an intangible smile, -“and yet I am not wrong in believing you were walking on the terrace -long after every one had gone to bed.”</p> - -<p>I nodded, and drank my coffee as if it were nectar. I almost choked -myself in my eagerness to dispatch my Koulouria, and hugely pleased -Annunziata by begging another cup of her excellent coffee. One has not -just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> recovered from a fever and held a tryst with the stars without -serious result to one’s appetite.</p> - -<p>After breakfast, under a delicately-clouded sky, we rode through -the episcopal village of Xinara, this time, to my satisfaction, -unaccompanied by Aristides. The narrowness of the passage compelled -us to ride in single file until we had passed the bishop’s palace and -all the gardens and pigeon-holed hamlets with their bright terraces -and flowers. We turned up off the path round the great Castro, which, -near, looks even more impressive than afar, burnt red and brown with -the sun and rain, the wild thyme making a purple and scented haze upon -its enormous flanks. Skirting the ruins of Borgo, all the valleys and -vine plantations and orchards, girdled with hill beyond hill, burst -upon our view in a magnificent panorama. Everywhere the sharp contrast -of silver, olive and blue sea, and beneath us a vein of humid light -flashed and twisted itself like quicksilver through the plain, until a -bar of rocks broke it into an impetuous descent of foam. Silence lay -upon the land, and alternately soft and glowing colours were swept -across the empty hills by the wind-pursued clouds and the variations -of sun-fire. Here and there little petulant torrents dashed noisily -down the precipices, to twine themselves in the valleys and resume -their wild course, wherever the rocks rose and shot them into frothy -music. As we rode through each village, the curs came out, and stood -near a group of pigs to examine us with a depressed and listless air, -or bark at us from the ledge of a rock in a half-hearted way. Children -with matted hair and glances of dull curiosity, surveyed us gravely, -and whispered their opinions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> and the villagers stared at us with -inconvenient candour and solemnity. As we neared Mousoulou, a fine -mist began to fall from the upper peaks, like a thin veil gradually -thickening until it enveloped the landscape in a grey pall. I enjoyed -the prospects of damp mountain scenery, but I could see that Selaka, -like all Greeks, was made unhappy and nervous by it.</p> - -<p>We reached Mousoulou drenched. A lover may be permitted to shrink -from presenting the front of a water-dog to his mistress, and I was -keenly relieved to learn that Inarime and her aunt were out when we -arrived. An old woman welcomed us, and offered Selaka one sofa of -honour and me another. We were administered a glass of cognac, then -Selaka left me to listen to the wind howling furiously against the -windows, bending the heads of the flowers on the terrace, and freezing -my feet as it blew in under the chinks of the five doors that opened -off the room. Undeterred by the rain, the villagers came in batches -to inspect the stranger—men, women and children. It was a kind of -theatrical entertainment for them, with the agreeable merit of being -free of charge, and they availed themselves of the occasion with great -good-will. The delighted old woman stayed and did the honours of the -spectacle, explained me and appraised me with refreshing candour, and -after a burst of exclamations, they all stood round perfectly calm, a -row of offensive statues.</p> - -<p>Can any reader, not experienced, possibly conjecture the nameless -irritation of thus being silently, mercilessly stared at, and what -black thoughts of murder may rush through the excited brain under it? -I think not. When at last I had reached the white-heat of exasperation -under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> this awful Greek gaze, I rose and turned my back on my -tormentors.</p> - -<p>The landscape was now folded in a grey mist, broken by the lines of the -walls, the spires and perforated belfries. Out of this grey picture -showed patches of brown earth and dark rock below the draped head of -Mount Elias, and the trees looked like ghosts. The sky was a field -of colourless cloud, and the flower-heads on the terrace pierced the -opaline vapour with eyes of brilliant reproach. On a distant hill-curve -a group of animals were shivering, and near by the raindrops made big -pools upon the marble pavement. And soon the grey grew to opaque white, -and rushed from the brow of Mount Elias like a swift cloud blotting out -the meadows and valleys. Where was the glory of the morning? And where -was the warmth of my heart?</p> - -<p>“Do you know, sir, that I am inclined to think that I have been quite -long enough on view?” I cried, when Selaka returned.</p> - -<p>Selaka smiled, and I burst into an irritable laugh, which seemed to -impress the audience in the light of a new act. They pressed nearer, -and broke into inarticulate sounds of wonder and grave approval. -I thought they meditated a general embrace, but they contented -themselves with keeping the air from me, poisoning the atmosphere, and -expectorating profusely.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think, sir, that it would be possible to hint politely that -the entertainment is over?” I piteously implored.</p> - -<p>Upon a word and gesture of authority, the audience straggled out, -and doubtless held a parliament elsewhere to discuss the remarkable -phenomenon. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Surely your daughter is not out in this rain?” I asked, as soon as we -were left to ourselves.</p> - -<p>“No, she is sheltering in Steni. She accompanied her aunt on a visit to -a sick woman.”</p> - -<p>I looked round the large nude room, so chill and cheerless after -Selaka’s pretty sitting-room. The floor was marked with the wet clogs -of the recent explorers, and small rivers traversed it, flowing from -our umbrellas. The beams of the ceiling were supported by white arches, -and vulgar Italian pictures hung upon the whitewashed walls. It was the -dreariest place possible in which to await one’s beloved, and then the -sense of dampness, the deafening patter of rain against the windows, -the wind roaring and rising in frantic gusts, and earth and sky one -inextricable sea of grey! Most utterly wretched did I feel. I had much -to do to keep the tears of acute disappointment from my eyes, and -depression settled upon me as heavy as the impenetrable vapours outside.</p> - -<p>The noonday dinner was served, and like a philosopher Selaka enjoyed -the vermicelli soup, the pilau, and dish of larks stewed in tomatoes. -I ate, too, mechanically, with my glance and ear strained in feverish -intensity for the slightest premonition of Inarime’s return. And as we -sat drinking our coffee I could see with rapture that the colourless -mist was rolling rapidly off the earth, and above, delicately-tinted -clouds were beginning to show themselves upon the slate ground. The -sun peeped out through a blurred and ragged veil, and looked as if he -intended to dry the deluged world, and pale gold streaked the jagged -banks of red and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>yellow haze. Down the village street came the sound -of hoofed feet, and Selaka rushed forward.</p> - -<p>I went and stood at a window, and made a screen of the curtain. Selaka -had promised, upon my insistent prayer, to leave me but one moment -alone with Inarime before introducing me to her aunt. I saw a tall -massive woman, wrapped in a blue cloak, enter, and deposit her wet -umbrella in an opposite corner with maddening slowness. I glanced -behind her, and here stood Inarime enveloped in some brown garment with -a knot of red ribbon at her throat. She wore a red hood, and the moist -air and quick ride had left the glow of a pomegranate flower upon her -cheek. She stood in the middle of the room, and looked grave inquiry at -her father. He nodded reassuringly, told her to wait for him there, and -took his sister’s arm to lead her into the inner room.</p> - -<p>I came out of my hiding-place. There was something so solemn, so -ineffable in the moment, that I rejected all speech as inadequate. I -simply stood there looking at Inarime as I have never yet looked at any -woman, and then I said:—“Inarime!”</p> - -<p>I held out both hands. She turned, and without making any movement -towards me looked at me. Again her eyes gave me the impression of -eyes that are dazzled with light. They were clear as amber, crystal -as her soul, and held mine in willing bondage. Before then my pulses -had throbbed with expectation and hope; now they were quieted, numbed -almost by sheer intensity of feeling in the trace of gazing silence.</p> - -<p>“Inarime!” I said again, and this time my voice dropped to a whisper. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> - -<p>Unconsciously she seemed drawn to me, and while our hands met and -clasped, our eyes dwelt on each other in grave delight.</p> - -<p>“You have not spoken to me, Inarime,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Who are you?” she asked, as a wondering child might.</p> - -<p>“Has your heart not told you, Inarime?”</p> - -<p>Something like fear and humble pleading strove with the mastery of her -proud restrained expression. It was so new and perilous to her, that -she hardly knew to what she might not have silently pledged herself. -She hastily withdrew her hands, but still her eyes rested on mine and -sought solution in their depths.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I am afraid,” she murmured, and a wave of intangible pain swept -over her strong face.</p> - -<p>“Not of me, Inarime; not of me,” I entreated, and drew near to gather -her hands again.</p> - -<p>Before either of us could realise or stay the volcanic influences that -impelled us in an irresistible shock, my arms were round her and our -lips were one.</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * *</p> - -<p>Here Reineke’s note book, of which I was glad to avail myself, grows -too incoherent and impassioned for further use. The author will try to -tell the rest of his story.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XVI.</span> <span class="smaller">A REVELATION.</span></h2> - -<p>It was unknown, as regards time, to Reineke and Inarime whether -minutes or hours had passed before Selaka and his sister rejoined -them. The massive woman looked sharply at Gustav, then nodded to her -brother in emphatic approval. A keen and not unkindly glance took in -the situation, and it was possible she liked Reineke all the more for -the tell-tale colour that mounted to his cheeks under her searching -inspection.</p> - -<p>“Now, my children,” said Selaka, with as near an approach to the -ordinary gesture of rubbing the hands as a man so wedded to the customs -and restraint of the ancients could display. Here was a son-in-law, -if you will, not a popinjay from Athens, not a superficial European, -not a gross Teniote; but a man who was accustomed to deep draughts -from the old founts of learning! Whose youth still ran fire through -his veins, while the beauty of his face was enhanced by a delicate -suggestion of strength and burning life! Yes, Selaka was thoroughly -pleased with Gustav, and, in spite of his philosophic condemnation of -the impetuosities and frenzied purposes of an age he had long since -passed, something within him thrilled to their memoried delights. Upon -reflection, he would perhaps have viewed less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> enthusiastically the -love of a saner and older man for Inarime; and there might be moments -of sceptical acknowledgment of the sage reticence and colder blood -of the other different son-in-law he had dreamed of. There remained -nothing now to be discovered but the pecuniary circumstances of -Reineke, and some slight knowledge of his parentage. He looked very -unlike a German, but German blood might be crossed as well as any -other. Inarime had escaped, and Reineke stood rivetted to the very spot -she had left with a dazed look on his face as if he felt rather than -saw. He was awakened from the dreamy sensations that enveloped him by -the touch of Kyria Helene’s hand.</p> - -<p>“Pericles tells me that you have come to take Inarime from us,” said -she, and then nodded reassuringly to him, as if she thought it on the -whole an extremely reasonable intention on his part.</p> - -<p>“I am glad you think me worthy,” said Gustav, with a foolish lover’s -smile.</p> - -<p>“Oh, for that I don’t know; you may and you may not be. Young people -must take their chance; it’s for them to choose, and for them to -decide. You are comfortably off, I hope?”</p> - -<p>“Comfortably off!” burst out Gustav in radiant incoherence, “you ask a -man to whom the gates of Paradise have been opened if he is comfortably -off? I pray you, do not speak to me about it; settle everything as you -will, only leave me to my thoughts and my happiness.”</p> - -<p>This might suit a lover, but could hardly be expected to suit the young -lady’s guardians.</p> - -<p>“That is very well, but I refer to your means of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>support. Are you in a -position to maintain a wife?” asked the practical Kyria Helene.</p> - -<p>“I do not know,” said Gustav; “I am accounted a rich man.”</p> - -<p>“But do your people live in Germany?” she proceeded, catechising him -severely.</p> - -<p>And then came the one great difficulty in Gustav’s path. Oh, if he -could have abjured his nationality, gladly then would he have done so. -A Turk, and to confess that to these Greeks!—It seemed a horrible -risk. Gathering all his energies together, he shook back his head -defiantly, and rather gasped than said:</p> - -<p>“No, my people do not live in Germany. I am not a German. I am a Turk.”</p> - -<p>“A Turk!” cried the woman, and held up her hands in dismay and -repulsion.</p> - -<p>To Selaka no word was possible; for him the Turk was the symbol of -all that is most hateful in his country’s past. He stood transfixed, -staring at the young man whom a moment ago he had been prepared to take -to his heart, and to whom he had so readily consigned the one treasure -of his existence. No, that was not possible. Inarime wed a Turk! It -did not seem to him that worse degradation could be for a daughter of -free Greece! Despite his contempt of the present, his patriotic pride -was very fierce and unbending. He took a step nearer to Gustav, who was -looking at him now not defiantly but imploringly, and said:</p> - -<p>“There is surely some mistake. Perhaps you mean that you have been born -in Turkey. But your name is surely German?”</p> - -<p>“No, my name is not German, I merely adopted a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> German name in coming -to Greece so that I might not wound national susceptibilities, and -bring upon myself unnecessary coldness. My name is Daoud Bey. Kyria -Selaka, what difference can this make? I love not Inarime the less -because my people once oppressed yours. I am not responsible for the -blunders of generations. You do not surely imagine that I am less -likely to cherish and reverence your daughter than one of her own -countrymen? Rather do I believe that the very fact of the past wrongs -that her race endured at the hands of mine will add to my solemn charge -on the day she entrusts herself to my care. That it shall not be for -her grief you may believe, for I love her. Besides, you must think of -Inarime, if even you refuse to think of me. For now she is mine, and -nothing in regard to my nationality or race can alter that fact. You -must accept it.”</p> - -<p>“I do not accept it,” said Selaka, “my daughter will not marry a Turk. -I have said it.” Words of reproach for the lateness of the avowal were -on his lips but he repressed the natural retort “you have deceived me.”</p> - -<p>“Is this your decision?” asked Gustav, growing chill with fright.</p> - -<p>“It is my decision.”</p> - -<p>“Then I will only abide by the voice of Inarime. If she bids me go, I -will go even without her, but not otherwise. You may be her father, -but I am her lover. You have the claim of long years of devoted care -and affection, and I have but the claim of a moment of transcendent -passion. But, sir, your claim weighed with mine would prove but a -feather as opposed to the barque of love on the waters of destiny!” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, I think not,” said Selaka. “Inarime will see your race in her -lover, and she will not take your name, whatever the effort of parting -may cost her.”</p> - -<p>“Kyrie Selaka,” cried Gustav, with frantic urgency, “I have but one -request to make you, and you must grant it. Not one word of this will -be uttered to Inarime; she will only hear from my lips of that which -you regard as an impassable barrier to our union.”</p> - -<p>Selaka shot a swift inquiry in the direction of his sister.</p> - -<p>“I think,” said Helen, “we may accede to this demand. It is reasonable, -and it does the young man credit that he should urge it.”</p> - -<p>Gustav looked his humble gratitude, and then went out on the terrace, -which was nearly dry after the recent deluge. The wet leaves gleamed -under their clear burden, while the damp air brought out all the -exquisite odours of hillside and valley. Gustav could have almost -laughed aloud in the surety of triumph. What could it matter to him the -decision of two cold-blooded old people, who perhaps never knew the -mighty force of love, or, having known it, had completely forgotten -it? <i>He</i> allow himself to be calmly divorced from his mate, and sit -down tamely upon the sudden ruins of his life! Such mad acceptance -of the control of others might be befitting a phlegmatic Teuton, but -it was quite incompatible with the fire of an Oriental. And, then, -Inarime could not forsake him; and this theory of race antagonism -would be shivered on the first word of his that should fall on her -ears. It would mean only a little delay; some indecision, and perhaps -some tears; and then for them success lay ahead. Oh, why<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> does nature -give youth its volcanic impulse and its ardent impetuosity! Strife, -struggle, delay! These but gave an added impetus to his passion.</p> - -<p>Flaming clouds shot from the west, heralds to proclaim the sun’s -departure in one burst of splendour. They touched the plane and -pepper-trees with light, and spurred the lagging birds into song. A -breeze, like a sigh after protracted sobbing, swept from the east, -and met the moist earth with a throb of promise. It brushed past over -Reineke’s hot cheek, and fanned his thrilled senses into exultation. -A silent shout of defiance from the invisible host that march in the -wake of triumphant love went up, and Reineke felt his heart impervious -to doubt. He heard a step, a light, quick step that he should have -recognised in a thousand, and it lashed him with insufferable force.</p> - -<p>“Inarime! stay! One moment, beloved,” he cried, in a voice of prayer.</p> - -<p>That prayer was her command. She stood still, but did not dare advance -lest answering passion should fling her in transport into his arms.</p> - -<p>They stood thus, trifling with the eternal moments, their aching -glances rivetted as under the spell of enchantment. Then he moved -towards her, and her hands met his in silence.</p> - -<p>“You are mine, Inarime,” he said, in a whisper. “Nothing now can alter -that.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>It was hardly speech. Her lips moved, but it was her eyes that spoke.</p> - -<p>“Say it aloud, beloved, that all may hear it, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> know that you -promised,—the earth, the trees, the birds and the departing sun. -Aloud! Aloud!”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid! Can I know? Who are you? Tell me, tell me.”</p> - -<p>She retreated, but held him with the bewildering tenderness of her -glance.</p> - -<p>“Your lover! Lord of you, my lady. Inarime, your husband.”</p> - -<p>“I love you,” she cried, and covered her face with her hands.</p> - -<p>“My own! Your eyes spoke first. I knew it. Nothing shall part us. Say -you believe it.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot; but I love you.”</p> - -<p>He drew nearer, and his dark, impassioned gaze flamed fire into hers. -His breath was on her hair, and he held her hand to his lips.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my beloved, thou art the eye of my soul, the voice of my heart,” -he burst out, incoherently. At that moment of high-wrought sensation -and terrible sincerity, he could no more hold Eastern metaphor in -abeyance than he could bid his gaze close upon the light it avidly -drank—as sun-drained flowers drink dew. The restraints of European -customs and education were broken and overtopped by the strong heat of -passion, and wild words gushed upon its wave.</p> - -<p>“Inarime, Inarime, thy slim fingers are the rivets that bind my willing -feet to high service. Command me! Anything, I pray, but silence and -averted looks. Withhold me not thy promise.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot,” she said again, startled by his outburst.</p> - -<p>“Nay, thou art offended. Oh! blind me not with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> thy anger, Inarime. -But as thou wilt. Thy anger will I bear rather than that thou shouldst -leave me. O fair one, O desired of my life! Thy kiss upon my eyelids -shall be as the dawn of my Paradise. Be to me, sweet, as an angel -of morning. Lift the gloom and fever of unsatisfied longing from -my heart. Be to me as the sun, moon, and stars to this earth of -ours—light, life, warmth, and colour. I grow chill with the fear of -thy unwillingness, Inarime. Worse than perpetual deafness were to my -ear thy ‘nay.’ But ‘nay’ it cannot be, beloved. Thou lovest me. The -light has shown it in thy eyes. My voice has revealed it on thy face. -Mine art thou, O Inarime, and by our love must thou abide.”</p> - -<p>“Can I promise, not knowing? But I love you,” she cried, and her voice -rose in passionate protest, as though she felt the blood of feeling -rise within her like a mighty sea and encompass her to her doom.</p> - -<p>They looked at each other an instant gravely—a look of immeasurable -love! And while the flaming heralds were ebbing back into the sea, -and the sunken sun followed them through a bed of crimson and orange, -drawing a purple pall over his vacated place, these two were locked in -each other’s arms. Hush, foolish birds! There is no song of yours sweet -enough to pierce their ears. The harmonies of love have swelled upon -the silence, and its song is measured by their heart-beats.</p> - -<p>Inside, two others were holding sharp counsel over the destiny of this -miserable privileged pair.</p> - -<p>“Can nothing satisfactory be settled, Pericles?” asked Helene. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Certainly. He goes,” retorted her brother, bringing down his upper lip -shortly upon this unpleasant decision.</p> - -<p>“But he is rich, Pericles. Be a sane father for once in your life. A -rich man! <i>Panaghia mou!</i> You are an idiot.”</p> - -<p>“He is a Turk.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, a Turk! Never fear, I will keep a careful eye upon him. With me -there will be no danger. He will neither desert Inarime, nor outrage -her with other wives.”</p> - -<p>“I have not thought of that,” said Pericles, reflectively.</p> - -<p>“<i>Dystychia mou!</i> that is the only thing to be feared in wedding a -Turk,” remarked the practical Kyria Helene.</p> - -<p>“It is a side-issue, important, I admit, but below the main barrier. I -had forgotten, however, that the sentimental and impersonal side would -be the one least likely to touch you, Helene.”</p> - -<p>“Sentiment and impersonality won’t find your daughter a suitable match, -I can assure you,” said Helene, wisely.</p> - -<p>“True enough. But you are ever there, my sister, to shunt the train on -to the proper line when you detect a tendency to divagation.”</p> - -<p>He smiled sadly as he spoke, for his heart was torn with the torture of -the coming severity for those tender young people outside. He heard the -ardent murmur of Reineke’s voice, and his eyes filled with tears. But -he knew that there were no words the lover could utter that would make -him abandon his first decision. That<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> Inarime would seek to shake his -resolution he had no fear. Was she not Greek of the very Greek?</p> - -<p>“Well, and what are you going to do, Pericles?”</p> - -<p>“Inarime will stay here with you, and he will return with me to Xinara -at once. Tell your servant to call for the mules. Ten minutes more will -I give them, and then their parting is irrevocable.”</p> - -<p>“But if Inarime loves this young man? He says she does.”</p> - -<p>“Trust her to me. It will be a wrench, but she will get over it. I will -take her to Athens, and through the Peloponnesus. New scenes will heal -the ache of a young heart.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, the two outside had dropped from the pinnacle of hardly -conscious bliss. She knew his name now, and was standing with one -hand stretched across his breast and resting upon his shoulder, and -their speech was a happy murmur. No thought of separation here. A life -together was what they were speaking of when Selaka interrupted them.</p> - -<p>“My children, it is time to part,” he said.</p> - -<p>“To part!” cried Inarime. “Then I am not to return to Xinara to-night -with you—and him?”</p> - -<p>“You are to stay here, and he is to go. Have you not told her?” he -demanded sternly of Reineke.</p> - -<p>“Nay, sir, consider. Had I time? Can I tell her?” Gustav pleaded, with -a broken voice.</p> - -<p>Inarime looked from one to the other. In the dusk the light in her -lover’s eyes seemed to baffle her searching gaze, and she approached -her father a step, her glance still wedded to Gustav’s. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What is there to tell me?” she commanded of both.</p> - -<p>“He is a Turk, my daughter. There can be nothing between you,” said -Selaka, sadly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, father! That may not be. I love him, his lips have sealed my -promise upon mine. I cannot now take back that which I have given. You -do not forsake me?” she cried, turning to Gustav, in an impulse of -childish yearning.</p> - -<p>“I! Inarime!”</p> - -<p>His throat rose and choked further speech. He held out his arms, and -her head sought protection on his breast.</p> - -<p>“Inarime, are you not shamed? Leave that man’s embrace. What! do you -not see in him the long years of servitude and degradation under which -your country groaned? Are you less proud, less worthy of your glorious -ancestors than the Greek woman who flung herself and her babes from a -rock into the engulfing sea rather than yield to Turkish embraces? Does -Hellenic blood run so sluggishly in your veins that revolt does not cry -for shame? Come to me, my daughter. That man and you must part.”</p> - -<p>“Have pity, sir, I beg you,” almost shouted Gustav, lifting up his -head, which had been bent upon the girl’s, and still holding her form -closely to him. “Is there no eloquence in her tears? Can I say naught -to shake your harsh resolve?”</p> - -<p>“Naught. Young tears are soon dried. Inarime!”</p> - -<p>She lifted her head from Gustav’s breast, and held her throat to keep -back the fierce sobs that shook her.</p> - -<p>“Father,” she said, “have I ever disobeyed you?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> Have I ever once -deliberately thwarted or offended you?”</p> - -<p>“Never, my beloved child, never. To me you have been a reward and a -support.”</p> - -<p>“Then, father, by that past unblotted by tear or wrangle, by the memory -of my mother, by your own vanished youth, I beseech you, spare me! I -love him, father, leave him to me,” she cried.</p> - -<p>Her hands were in Gustav’s, and her praying eyes pierced the heart of -Selaka.</p> - -<p>“My child, you know not what you ask. I tell you, the man is a Turk. It -is mad, it is base of you to be willing to give yourself to him. Do not -force me to renounce you.”</p> - -<p>She dropped Gustav’s hands, and her face was blanched in a transport of -pain.</p> - -<p>“Oh, father, blame me not. Your voice has never yet been harsh to me. -I am young. Show me some pity. Think what it is, on the threshold of -life, to be asked to relinquish life’s best happiness. Plead with -me—you,” she urged Gustav, her brows drawn in one line of repressed -anguish.</p> - -<p>“Sir, is there any sacrifice you will be satisfied with as a proof that -for her sake I must utterly renounce my nationality? If I adopt Greece -as my home, and your name instead of mine? Inarime is my life, my -world, my future,” cried Gustav.</p> - -<p>“You are a Turk. You cannot undo or alter that fact.”</p> - -<p>“Father, I cannot give him up,” said Inarime.</p> - -<p>“Then you are dead to me. Choose between us, my child. Marry him, and -go hence without a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> father. Drop your past, and take up your future -alone.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir, this is a cruel choice for so tender a daughter. I cannot -allow it,” Gustav protested.</p> - -<p>“It is my decision. Choose at once, Inarime.”</p> - -<p>“Leave you, father, or leave—him?” she said, slowly, dazed with the -stress of the moment.</p> - -<p>She looked from one to the other, and then with a little sob flung out -her arms towards her father, her eyes fastened in piteous entreaty on -Gustav’s.</p> - -<p>“You will forgive me,” she whispered to Gustav; “you will understand? -My father! I cannot leave him. He cared so greatly for me. It would be -wicked. It would be cruel. He is old. We are young. Oh, dear God, help -me!” she cried, in shuddering sobs, but when her father approached to -touch her, she shrank from him in a kind of dismay and repugnance.</p> - -<p>Shaken by an answering force of agony, Gustav was on his knees before -her, kissing her dress, her feet, her icy fingers. She trembled, and -a wave of colour spread over her face as she stooped and pressed her -hands against his wet eyes.</p> - -<p>“Dearest, it will be worse for me,” she murmured.</p> - -<p>“It is monstrous. I cannot, I will not accept dismissal. Youth is the -time of ardent purpose and revolt. Every nerve in our bodies, every -beat of our hearts must revolt against such cruelty. Your father must -relent if we both join against him.”</p> - -<p>“I will not relent. Stand up, Herr Reineke. Accept your sentence like a -man, and be not less brave than a mere child.”</p> - -<p>Thus chidden, Reineke stood up, like one struck<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> mortally. His glance -never left Inarime’s and both were filled with an unfathomable -tenderness.</p> - -<p>“Go, my daughter, to your room. This gentleman and I will start at once -for Xinara.”</p> - -<p>Inarime made a step back towards the window, her face still turned to -Reineke’s, as a flower’s to the sun.</p> - -<p>“Inarime!” cried Gustav, and in an instant she had bounded across the -terrace, and was clinging to him as if for sheer life.</p> - -<p>“You see, sir,” said Gustav, looking up triumphantly, when their lips -were parted. “Love is ever conqueror.”</p> - -<p>“I think not. My daughter, say at once, is this our parting—our last -parting and our first?”</p> - -<p>Inarime lifted her head and removed her arms from her lover’s neck. She -gazed questioningly at both men, begged for pity from the one, and for -strength from the other.</p> - -<p>The old man was sad and stern, as immovable as his own great Castro. -Gustav’s beautiful Eastern face was aflame and radiant in youth and -strength and passion.</p> - -<p>Could she forsake the old and worn?</p> - -<p>“Not that, father, not that,” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Then leave that man and go inside.”</p> - -<p>“I will obey you, father,” she said. “Farewell,” she cried, turning to -Gustav, and with one long look she passed from the terrace.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XVII.</span> <span class="smaller">PARTED LOVERS.</span></h2> - -<p>The last word has been spoken, the last look exchanged between the -lovers, and the wrench of parting is over. Gustav declined to accompany -Selaka back to Xinara; he was too shaken for society other than his -own. Inarime had bent to her father’s decision, and had accepted the -sundering of their lives. More than this he hardly knew.</p> - -<p>When Selaka rode down the village, Gustav followed on foot, and knew -not whither he went,—content to drift along without purpose or desire. -Yet he dreaded the weakness of succumbing to a merely whimpering -sorrow. That something had gone from him to which he clung with a kind -of frenzied fervour he felt, but he was resolved that the sense of -desolation should not conquer him. He had said that he would accept -his fate at Inarime’s bidding; now, that that fate seemed harder than -human endurance, it was not for him to rebel in impotent anguish, but -to endeavour bravely to face the empty world.</p> - -<p>As he entered the village of Steni, he saw a little band of villagers -approach the Greek church, and, hardly knowing why, he followed them. -The church was lit, and in the middle upon a table was a tray of sweets -and two long candles, upon which rested two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> wreaths joined by a long -white ribbon. Pricked by the dull curiosity of a man who no longer -feels interested in himself, he pushed his way on up the church, -lounged against the pillar and gazed with a strange calmness upon the -ceremonial, that soon began. No one who saw him would interpret his -impassivity of attitude and look as the despair of a suddenly wrecked -life.</p> - -<p>The man beside him, standing with his hat on his head, and wearing the -preoccupied air with a visible nervousness that usually betokens the -happy man upon the portals of marriage, was a mere village clod in an -unpicturesque European garb, who stood beside his best man waiting for -the bride. A stout, plain, village girl was ushered into the church -in a whirlwind of excitement, surrounded by a circle of feminine -satellites. She neither looked at the bridegroom, nor at any one else, -but kept her eyes fixed in sullen acquiescence on the ground.</p> - -<p>She wore a bright-coloured kerchief on her head, with a band of coins -round her forehead; and a profusion of jewellery decked her muscular -throat and arms. Very expensively and tastelessly was she arrayed, -and most miserable did she look in her finery. The fixed misery of -her face interested Gustav, who naturally thought it quite in keeping -with the lesson of life, that every one should look wretched. Three -priests advanced to wed this uncomely couple, and the evolutions that -followed struck Gustav with astonishment. He listened to the priests -as they droned out the wedding service, and held the Gospel now to the -bridegroom’s lips and then to the bride’s; and so on,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> three times; -watched them place the long lighted tapers in the hands of each; -watched the pair give and accept rings, and passively submit to the -decoration of the wreaths of artificial flowers, exchanged three times -upon either head.</p> - -<p>Involuntarily Gustav smiled at the grotesque sight presented by the -village clod in his wreath of roses, and then marvelled when the -priests and principal personages, with their attendant swains and -nymphs, caught hands in a circle, and danced with inconceivable gravity -round the table backwards and forwards three times, the bride and -bridegroom still wearing their look of dull wretchedness. Good heavens! -Was this the kind of ceremony he would have been bound to go through -in his marriage with Inarime? to find himself hauled round a table, -as sailors haul in the anchor, bound in that degrading fashion with -roses! It was some slight salve for his wound to gaze in contempt at -this pastoral introduction to marriage, and when a little mischievous -boy upset the tray in order that he and his friends might taste of its -contents in the scuffle that ensued, and was frantically cuffed and -sworn at by the angry priests, Gustav burst out into gloomy laughter, -and made his way as well as he could out of the church.</p> - -<p>He walked down the darkened street heavy-hearted, thinking of Inarime; -he dropped into the rough decline that leads to Xinara, and mingled -with the sad images of the day were the cruel dulness of the bride’s -face and the tame acceptance of the bridegroom. After all, perhaps it -was so; this might be the symbol of marriage, and not the high ideal he -yearned for. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> - -<p>Under a rocky projection he saw a man who had been pointed out to -him as a semi-idiot. An ambitious mother had sent him as a lad to -Marseilles; thence he had made his way up to Paris; and now this was -his state. Three years of stormy life in that nefarious city had turned -a bright lad into a bald, aged idiot, only twenty-five, looking more -than fifty. He was staring stupidly down through the thickening shadows -to where the sea beat against the distant shore: staring out from the -barren island that oppressed him; living acutely and horribly in memory.</p> - -<p>Comforted by the sight of a fellow-sufferer, Gustav stopped and said -good-night. The wretched man glanced at him in dreary reproach.</p> - -<p>“It used to be good-night over there in Paris; the boulevards were lit -and there were laughter and gaiety around, happy voices, music, cabs, -and pretty women. Here nothing, nothing, nothing, but the everlasting -sea and sky and the pathless mountain sides. Don’t say good-night to -me, sir, I am dead, irretrievably damned, damned, damned in hell!”</p> - -<p>Gustav thought he was not the only living man who thought this world a -hell, and turned round by the desolate Castro. He climbed up the rocks, -overjoyed by the sensation of complete discomfort, of torn hands and -bruised members. Then he stretched himself on the top of the rock, and -looked out across the shadowy waters. The first faint glimmer of the -crescent shone in the glossy sky, and the stars looked like drops of -fire hanging above the world. There was no sound save the far-off roar -of the waterfalls thundering down their marble rocks, or the musical -clang of the goat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> and sheep bells as the shepherds gathered in their -flocks for the night. Sometimes a light flamed from a distant window. -Gustav thought of old stories he had read, in which maidens placed -lights in their windows to light their lovers, or wives as a message -to their husbands. The loneliness of his future broke in upon him in a -flood of self-pity. There was only one window he wanted to see lighted -for him, and that now would be eternally dark. Tears sprang to his -eyes, and then, fearful of the horror of the gathering outburst he -felt within him, he jumped down the rocks, now sliding, now racing on, -tangling his limbs in the bushes and furzes, and shot down the path -that hung over the little village of Xinara.</p> - -<p>Demetrius saw him pass with flying feet, with set lips, and unseeing -eyes; and the popular shop-keeper turned to his patient satellites, -Johannes and Michael, and observed:</p> - -<p>“He’s been to Mousoulou; I heard it all; the wedding takes place -immediately.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a good-looking fellow,” said Johannes, apprehensive of the -reception of this innocent remark from so susceptible a leader.</p> - -<p>“As for that, yes, and he’s getting a good-looking wife, though she -does dress outlandishly, and turns up her nose at my stuffs. She got -that yellow gown at Syra, and I can’t say I admire the big buttons she -wears.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Michael, reflectively, “she is a very learned young woman, -and writes very fine letters for our women. I don’t know what they’ll -do when she goes away. I know my girl in Constantinople won’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> be in -the way of hearing much from my wife.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, that’s so,” said Demetrius, “she’ll be missed as letter-writer, -and I’m not so sure that the place won’t seem a good deal smaller and -duller when we’ve not her handsome face to look at.”</p> - -<p>In the courtyard Gustav brushed up against Aristides, who glared at him -and muttered a curse as he removed his frame from the doorway, where -he had been airing his ill-humour for the benefit of Annunziata, busy -making the new Misythra.</p> - -<p>“Here he is,” he said to his good-tempered listener, engaged just then -on the delicate process of straining off the sheep’s milk and tying up -the remainder of clotted cream tightly in a linen cloth.</p> - -<p>Gustav strode up to her and said in an unfamiliar voice, chill and -remote like an echo:</p> - -<p>“I am going.”</p> - -<p>The pleasant old woman laid down her jar, dried her hands, and took -hold of his, tightening upon them with an inspiriting and sympathetic -grasp.</p> - -<p>“My poor child, may God and His saints go with you! I know all. By -my faith, I see no reason why you should go. The Turk, we know, is a -heretic, but you would marry my Inarime according to the Greek rite. -You would be faithful to her as a Christian should be.”</p> - -<p>“Faithful!” cried Gustav, vehemently. “Gladly would I die for her.” But -he did not see that of the two this is much the easier to do.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said Annunziata, “young men in love talk very tall; when -the fit passes, they do very little. But I like you, and I am sorry for -you. Go away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> now; it is better so. Be assured that your interests here -will not suffer by being left in my hands.”</p> - -<p>The tears were perilously near his eyelids; he struggled with rising -emotion, flung himself round, and in a moment his figure made a -vanishing and graceful shadow in the upper air. Selaka was within, -pacing the room in perplexed thought, when the young man entered.</p> - -<p>“Sir, is this your last word? Must I go and not bear with me the hope -of returning?” demanded Gustav.</p> - -<p>“You must,” said Selaka, gravely, “you cannot undo your birth, nor can -I.”</p> - -<p>Gustav waited not for another word, but rushed into his room, hastily -gathered his things together, and reappeared in the little parlour with -his portmanteau in his hand. He stood in front of Selaka, and looked at -him steadily.</p> - -<p>“Should this grief be too much for her?”</p> - -<p>“She is strong, and she is brave,” said Selaka, “and she will overcome -it.”</p> - -<p>“Good God!” said Gustav, “have you no thought of the girl’s heart? Are -there forces in nature, think you, to dispel or even dull its yearning? -Is there ever a barrier to the union of two souls! What you play with -is her happiness, for the sake of your own patriotic pride.”</p> - -<p>Selaka did not answer, but covered his eyes with his hand, and said:</p> - -<p>“It must be so. We are bound irrevocably by ties nearer, more sacred, -than any impulse of nature. There are animosities that cannot -shrink and vanish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> under such considerations as you urge; there is -a degradation that cannot be faced by any free spirit! Under other -circumstances, I should have regarded your marriage with my daughter as -an honour for me and a happiness for her. But that is at an end. You -will go hence, and you will forget us, but you may believe that our -kindest wishes will follow you wherever you may go.”</p> - -<p>They shook hands, and thus they parted. Gustav found Aristides -waiting for him outside, with a mule for himself and a donkey for -his portmanteau; and through the increasing darkness and the shadows -of night, which lay like extended wings on the landscape, they rode -silently down into the town.</p> - -<p class="center">* * * - * * * * - * *</p> - -<p>The next morning Pericles was shaken out of his moody disappointment -by Constantine’s wild letter written the night before his duel with -the lawyer Stavros, and an accompanying note from the brave Captain, -dwelling pompously on his gallant demeanour, and explaining that the -wound, the result of an awkward shot, was not in the least dangerous, -but simply troublesome, and that the presence of Dr. Selaka’s family in -Athens was desirable.</p> - -<p>“The very thing. Inarime needs a change,” Pericles cried, brightening -at the prospect of getting outside his daughter’s grief.</p> - -<p>He and Inarime embarked from the little pier for Athens late that -afternoon, and it seemed to him a hopeful omen that the forlorn girl -looked about her with eyes of interest.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> - -<h2>BOOK III.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XVIII.</span> <span class="smaller">RUDOLPH AND ANDROMACHE.</span></h2> - -<p>New Year’s Eve at Athens by the Greek calendar. The long street of -Hermes was an execrable confusion of the mingled sounds of loud -chatter, laughter, jostling and popguns. Everybody was buying monster -bouquets for presentation on the morrow. Sensitive nerves were laid -prostrate in shivering ache by the din of squib and rattle, and -the intolerable and unceasing explosions, and the raw colours were -an offence to the eye. But the unfastidious Greeks were drunk with -excitement and pleasure. They proudly carried the purchased bouquets -with which the New Year’s greetings were to be exchanged, ate sweets, -laughed hilariously, and took their jostling very good-naturedly. -All the booths erected on either side of the street were covered -with flowers, and men went about bearing aloft long poles to which -bouquets for sale were affixed,—and these wands wore a curious -triumphal aspect. Oh, the dolorous strangeness and multiplied effects -of an Oriental town in holiday attire! Its clamorous and enervating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> -gaieties, and its exasperating want of tone! Think of it with a strong -sun beating down upon it, with not a touch of shadow or repose to -soothe the pained eyes, with incessant speech clanging and clattering -through the air, and every delicate sense affronted!</p> - -<p>Foreigners and natives were abroad to view and drink at this local -fount of joy. One group we recognise. Rudolph Ehrenstein elbows his -way through the crowd and turns protectively every moment to his -delighted and staring companion, Andromache with the March-violet -eyes, whom we last saw with shamed and drooping head flee Madame -Jarovisky’s ball-room. How well, and young, and prettily infatuated the -pair look! And there is the glorious Miltiades behind them, bearing -on his arm his portly and panting mother. Was there ever conqueror so -irresistible? ever hero more gallantly conscious of his heroism? The -spectator thought of those hapless five thousand Turks, and shuddered; -heard the ostentatious rattle of his spurs, and that terrible weapon -of destruction hanging from his side in the eloquence of war; looked -at the scarlet plumes nodding above his noble brow, measured the -awful imposingness of his tall slim form in the sombre simplicity of -the Artillery Uniform and his long military boots, and rejoiced that -Providence is good enough to limit the number of such heroes, else -would surely be exterminated the horde of non-heroic.</p> - -<p>This slaughterer of Turks was now content to be regarded as an amiable -slaughterer of women. Twirling his fierce moustache, with a casual -eye upon the young couple in front, he was looking round eagerly in -search of his latest victim, Miss Mary Perpignani,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> while his mother -breathed shortly on his arm, and kept muttering, “Poh! Poh! Poh! what a -crush!” while she vigorously fanned and rubbed her sallow face with her -handkerchief.</p> - -<p>Above the foolish pair in front, Love’s star shone with a very gentle -fulgence. Just a sense of delicious trouble, unmarred by any passionate -impulses, stirred Rudolph. There was a delicate fragrance of homage -in his shy and boyish fancy. It was a happiness, exquisite in its -completeness and unexactingness, to be with Andromache, to listen to -her voice and look quickly, with the tell-tale blood of fervour in his -face, into her pretty eyes, his own shining and candid and content. Was -there ever a sweeter, more innocent idyll? and the pity was that these -two should not be allowed to run smoothly and trustingly into the shade -of forest depths and live the life of nature, with no knowledge of the -shabby compromises of civilisation and the more turbulent emotions of -the heart.</p> - -<p>He called her Mademoiselle Andromache, and with a look of shyest prayer -had prevailed on her to call him sometimes Monsieur Rudolph. But the -<i>Monsieur</i> and <i>Mademoiselle</i> tripped by with alarming facility; -the tongue dwelt and faltered and whipped scarlet colour into each -susceptible cheek upon the <i>Andromache</i> and <i>Rudolph</i>. Flattering, -foolish, happy creatures! If pulses never beat less innocently, and -senses never stirred more rapturously, the period of loverhood would -indeed be a spot of Arcadia upon the rough road of life.</p> - -<p>“Does all this not make your head and eyes ache, Mademoiselle -Andromache?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No,” said the Greek maid, untroubled by nerves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> and smiled in healthy -admiration. “Are not the bouquets pretty?”</p> - -<p>“If you think them pretty, they must be pretty,” said Rudolph, striving -loyally to see their beauty. “I am glad you like flowers.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” asked Andromache, meeting his eyes consciously.</p> - -<p>“Because there are such quantities of flowers about my home in Austria. -It is a lovely place, Mademoiselle Andromache. Imagine a great forest, -so silent and shadowy. Oh, if you could see it in the moonlight! The -trees drop silver, and fairies seem to play among the branches. I wish -I could show it to you, take you to see the haunted well, and show -you my mother’s favourite walk. You would have loved my mother, dear -Mademoiselle Andromache. She was so good, so sweet, so gracious. Oh, it -was a bitter loss to me. I cannot accustom myself to it. Sometimes I -wake up at night and fancy I hear her enter my room, and feel her soft -kiss on my forehead—and it is dreary to know that it is only fancy.”</p> - -<p>His voice shook and his clear eyes clouded. Andromache involuntarily -pressed his arm in sympathy, and when he looked down upon her he saw -responsive tears tremble on her lashes.</p> - -<p>“Dear Andromache,” he said, in a whisper, “you make me feel less -lonely. Ah, how my mother would have loved you!”</p> - -<p>And then these shy young persons, desperately afraid of each other and -of themselves, rushed eagerly on to impersonal ground.</p> - -<p>At the Byzantine church of Camcarea, which quaintly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> obstructs Hermes -Street, they were jostled out of sight of their escort, upon which -Kyria Karapolos was thrown into a state of voluble alarm.</p> - -<p>“Where are they, Miltiades? <i>Panaghia mou!</i> Andromache alone with that -young man! Come, Miltiades! I shall have a fit if they have gone far.”</p> - -<p>“It is all right, mamma,” laughed Andromache, behind them. “We were -pushed off the pavement, and had to let some people pass.”</p> - -<p>And then she glanced roguishly at Rudolph, and another rivet in the -chain of intimacy was added by a sense of peril and crime shared -between them.</p> - -<p>“Very well, Andromache. You will stay with me now, and Miltiades will -bring back Monsieur Ehrenstein to drink coffee with us later.”</p> - -<p>The impenitent ruffian, who had endangered her daughter’s reputation, -took his dismissal gaily enough; bowed low and smiled delightfully upon -both ladies as he took the arm of the stately and stalwart Miltiades, -and stood for them to pass:</p> - -<p>“Je crois c’est assez,” said Miltiades, with a comprehensive glance -up and down the noisy street, which had the bad taste not to show the -piquant face of Miss Mary Perpignani.</p> - -<p>Rudolph, to whom the Captain’s limited vocabulary in French was a -source of perpetual amusement, intimated his concurrence with this -opinion, whereupon they ruthlessly beat their way down to Constitution -Square.</p> - -<p>“Voulez-vous un café et cigarette?” asked the Captain, touching the -back of a chair, and the droll anxiety he displayed in uttering this -simple demand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> sent Rudolph into an explosion of appreciative mirth.</p> - -<p>“Non, non, chez-vous, j’aime mieux,” said Rudolph, indistinctly, -between gasps of laughter.</p> - -<p>Miltiades frowned, and held his head high with a proud, hurt air. His -French might be imperfect and his enunciation laborious, but he was -not the less for that a hero. By the grave of Hercules! was he to be -flouted and mocked by a young jackanapes from Austria?</p> - -<p>“Mais, mon ami, il ne faut pas se fâcher,” cried Rudolph, full of -remorse and apprehension. “Ah, si vous saviez tout,” he added, and -forced Miltiades to stop and shake hands with him.</p> - -<p>But how to unbosom oneself to a desired brother-in-law without a common -tongue? His Greek was even more limited than the other’s French, and of -German the gallant Captain’s knowledge was restricted to the convivial -“Trinken Sie Wein,” and “Hoch.” But despite the difficulties in the way -of conversation, the young men were delighted to be together.</p> - -<p>Miltiades chattered Greek, and looked eager inquiry at Rudolph who -nodded significantly, and was as voluble and communicative in French.</p> - -<p>What they said neither knew, but a gleam of intelligence broke the not -unpleasant darkness occasionally for Miltiades, in such pregnant words -as “votre sœur,” “j’aime,” and “épouser.”</p> - -<p>“He wants to marry Andromache,” thought Miltiades, drawing himself up, -and looking very grave and responsible. “It would be a splendid match -for her, but his uncle will never consent to it. However, I’ll give -conditional consent.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Vous,—épouser ma sœur, Andromache?” he said slowly, as he faced -Rudolph with the heaviest air of guardian.</p> - -<p>“Justement, Monsieur. Je le désire de tout mon cœur,” cried Rudolph, -flaming suddenly.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said Miltiades, pausing, and holding the suitor poised on the -wing of awful suspense. “Votre oncle?”</p> - -<p>Here Rudolph broke out into vehement protestations regarding which not -one word did Miltiades understand. They turned up one of the openings -off Stadion Street that led direct to the Lycabettus, and here they met -little Themistocles, as fresh and dapper and dainty as if he were ready -for exhibition on a toy counter.</p> - -<p>Miltiades collared him forcibly, and explained the extremity of his -need. Charmed by the possession of this sole superiority over the -warrior, which his fluent French gave him, little Themistocles lifted -his hat, and twirling his cane with an air of graceful ease, placed his -services as interpreter at the disposal of Monsieur Ehrenstein.</p> - -<p>Thus was cleared the fog of doubt and perplexity. The Jovelike brow -of Miltiades smoothed, and the light of approval beamed softly in his -dark blue eyes. Little Themistocles minced, and smiled affectedly, and -shrugged his shoulders to an incredible extent, until the inferior -glory of the Parisian dandy was totally eclipsed. And Rudolph, now that -the fatal leap was taken, was full of vague apprehension and nervous -tremors. Was he quite so sure as he assumed to be that he had the right -to dispose of himself thus? But Andromache was so pretty and tender, -and he so greatly loved her! </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - -<p>The enchanted brothers, for once partners in feeling and idea, hurried -him up the steep, unpaved streets, laughing boisterously as they jumped -the flowing streamlets that intersect them, and when they reached the -glass door of the beloved’s home, Miltiades rapped sharply against the -pane.</p> - -<p>“Maria, tell my mother to join us in the salon,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Kyria, you are wanted in the salon,” shouted Maria from the passage, -shaking her hair out of her eyes the better to stare at Rudolph. “I’m -thinking it is Andromache he wants, and not the old lady,” she muttered.</p> - -<p>Kyria Karapolos came puffing excitedly from the dining-room at the end -of the passage, followed by Julia, who wore her sulkiest air.</p> - -<p>“You are not wanted, Julia,” cried Miltiades, striding into the salon, -his sword and spurs making a fearful clatter along the floor.</p> - -<p>“You are not wanted, Julia,” echoed Themistocles, vindictively, eager -to air his own special spite under the cover of Miltiades’ command.</p> - -<p>Miltiades frowned and glowered upon him. He resented the liberty -of spurious authority in his presence, and a repetition of thunder -irritated him. But Rudolph’s presence checked his anger, and when the -suitor, the reigning sovereigns and their humble interpreter were -seated, there were perfect serenity and dignity in his bearing.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur Rudolph Ehrenstein wants to marry Andromache,” he said, -opening the proceedings.</p> - -<p>“<i>Panaghia mou!</i>” cried Kyria Karapolos, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> look of unutterable -astonishment at an announcement hourly expected.</p> - -<p>“He says his uncle will not object, and cannot practically interfere,” -Miltiades explained.</p> - -<p>“And that he is rich enough to dispense with a dowry,” added -Themistocles, thereby bringing upon himself a lightning-flame of -contempt from the hero of Greece.</p> - -<p>“<i>Panaghia mou!</i> But I am rejoiced. My dear Monsieur Ehrenstein, you -are charming. I am happy to give you Andromache. Oh, but this is a -blessed moment for me!” and with that she rose, and emphatically -embraced poor Rudolph, whom the ordeal rendered giddy and awkward. This -was the signal for general demonstrations of affection. Miltiades shook -hands, and kissed the cheeks of his future brother-in-law, and little -Themistocles did likewise.</p> - -<p>“Order coffee and liqueur, mother,” said Miltiades.</p> - -<p>“You are very amiable,” Rudolph said, gratefully, disturbed by the -trouble of the moment. “I am sure it will be my pride and happiness to -deserve your good-will in the future.”</p> - -<p>Kyria Karapolos returned with Andromache, and announced that the -refreshments of jubilation would shortly appear.</p> - -<p>“Andromache, behold your husband,” exclaimed Miltiades, with a slightly -theatrical flourish.</p> - -<p>Whereupon little Themistocles sighed profoundly, and retreated to his -own chamber to vex the sunset with strains of his asthmatic violin, to -muse upon his misery and think of the young lady in the next street. -With a significant nod, Captain Miltiades marched away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> to imaginary -glory, and Kyria Karapolos, in a kindly impulse, found a pretext for a -short absence in the necessity for Julia’s presence.</p> - -<p>How frightened and shy two confiding young people can be when first -confronted with the horrors of a tête-à-tête.</p> - -<p>Andromache was ready to sink with shame, and Rudolph’s heart was in his -boots. He looked at her with piteous entreaty, but her lashes rested -upon her cheek.</p> - -<p>“Andromache, you are not afraid of me, you do not like me less -because—because——” and there was something extremely like fear in -his own voice and in the tender imploring of his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, but I do not know what to say,” whispered Andromache, still -studying the Smyrna rug at her feet.</p> - -<p>“Look at me, Andromache, and say—say something kind.”</p> - -<p>She lifted her eyes, and they were filled with passionate admiration:</p> - -<p>“Say that—that you love me.”</p> - -<p>“I love you,” she said, with adorable simplicity.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Andromache,” he cried, suffocated with a sudden thrill, and -advanced nearer with outstretched hand.</p> - -<p>But she retreated in visible dread.</p> - -<p>“May I not have your hand, Andromache?”</p> - -<p>She gave it, still shrinking, with averted face.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you call me Rudolph, dear Andromache?”</p> - -<p>“Rudolph,” she whispered, and their eyes met lovingly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> - -<p>Emboldened by his success, he raised her hand to his lips.</p> - -<p>“What a pretty hand, Andromache! You are so pretty, dear one. I love -you,” he murmured gently, and steps were heard outside.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIX.</span> <span class="smaller">A CRUEL UNCLE.</span></h2> - -<p>What are the forces, and on whose behalf employed, that trouble the -smooth current of true love? We have seen one pair cruelly separated, -and now must these innocents be subjected to infamous treatment? Has -the sentence from the beginning been irrevocably pronounced, that if -both Adam and Eve prove faithful and worthy, their Eden cannot escape -the serpent? Must their bliss be poisoned either by the reptile of Fate -or by themselves? Poor sorry lovers, there is no peace, no security -for you, even in romance. Your only chance of permanent interest lies -in the mist of misfortune. The moment you bask in cloudless content, -the wings of poetry are clipped, and your garb is the insipidity of -commonplace.</p> - -<p>The bolt of Destiny was shot from the blue of dreams next morning, when -Rudolph was banqueting blissfully with his uncle and aunt at the midday -breakfast.</p> - -<p>“Rudolph,” said the enemy, in amiable baronial form, “your aunt and I -have arranged a charming surprise for you.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph looked up quietly, without a smart of premonition, and smiled -his pleasantest.</p> - -<p>“That is kind, uncle. And the surprise?”</p> - -<p>“Well, seeing how bored you are here—and, really,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> my dear boy, I am -not astonished—we are going to take you on an exciting voyage through -the Peloponnesus. We will show you all the historic spots.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear uncle, I have no desire whatever to see the Peloponnesus -or any historic spots,” exclaimed Rudolph, paling before the vision of -himself wandering away from Andromache. “I hate history, and don’t care -a straw for the ancient Greeks.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Rudolph, don’t show me that I’ve built my hopes on you in vain,” -exclaimed the baroness, in cheerful dismay. “I have been counting on -you to explain everything to me. Your acquaintance with school books is -so much more recent than mine, and the baron is even more hazy in his -recollections than I.”</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry to disappoint you, aunt, but I cannot leave Athens at -present. I am not bored, uncle, I assure you. I am very happy, and I -love Athens.”</p> - -<p>The baron looked at him sharply, and thought he wore much too happy an -air.</p> - -<p>“Rudolph, I entreat you—if I were not so massive, I would kneel to -you,” cried the baron, in mock prayer, “allow us to drag you away for -one solitary fortnight from the enchantress, Mademoiselle Photini -Natzelhuber. I admit that our society and the sight of historic spots -will prove an inadequate substitute for her charms and fascinations, -but humour this whim of two old people, and your return to the feet of -the yellow-eyed witch of Academy Street will be the more delightful.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean, uncle,” protested Rudolph, with a look -of startled anxiety. “I have not seen Mademoiselle Natzelhuber since -Madame Jarovisky’s ball.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Not possible? Good gracious! that one so young should be so faithless! -The contemplation of the perfidy of my own sex, Madame, fills my eyes -with tears. But no, I apprehend. It is merely the refined hesitation of -innocence. He sighs at her door—serenades her—have you not, Madame, -remarked a tell-tale look about his violin?—and consumes quantities of -paper. Well, I shall see that there are at least a dozen quires of note -paper, of the very best quality, stamped with the family coat-of-arms, -placed in your portmanteau, Rudolph, and your aunt and I will retire -discreetly into the background while you compose your flaming epistles -and frantically adjure the moon and stars instead of Mademoiselle -Photini.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“‘Ma Photini, prépare ta toilette,</div> -<div>Il y a un mois que la mienne est déjà faite;</div> -<div>Mes beaux habits, mes seuls habits,</div> -<div>Voilà un mois que je les ai mis.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>There are some verses, ‘une invitation au mariage,’ of which I make -you a present. You didn’t know that I sometimes perpetrate impromptu -verses? Good, aren’t they? ‘Ma Photini,’” he began again, singing the -lines to an impromptu air, seemingly unconscious that the crimson of -anger had mounted to Rudolph’s brow.</p> - -<p>“You must not tease the boy,” said the baroness, maliciously. -“Remember, you were once in love yourself.”</p> - -<p>“With you, Madame, before me, as a substantial testimony of that -pleasant fact, I do not see how I can forget it,” smiled the baron.</p> - -<p>“My dear baron, our Rudolph well understands that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> that is not the sort -of love he is pricked with. But, seriously, my dear child, you must not -abandon us. A young man loves and he rides away—for a time—which does -not in the least prevent him from riding back again, also for a time. -Don’t you see? The Natzelhuber won’t die meanwhile.”</p> - -<p>“Aunt, I cannot understand why you should talk in this way about -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber. Let me positively state that she is nothing -to me, nor am I anything to her,” cried Rudolph, testily.</p> - -<p>“Poor Mademoiselle! I weep for her,” said the baron. “And there is that -wretched Agiropoulos stamping and swearing about Athens, plotting duels -and blood and the Lord knows what, protesting against yellow-headed -Austrians and amber moustaches. Dear me! That such noble indignation, -and a jealousy with a fine mediæval flavour in it, should be wasted! -Well, it is settled. If you have got over that little affair of the -Natzelhuber, any scruples I may have cherished against tearing you -away from the violet-crowned city—vanish. So, my nephew, you will get -yourself up in that fascinating green coat and the long boots to-morrow -morning, and we will begin by Marathon.”</p> - -<p>The baron had finished his coffee and cigar, and stood up with a -gesture clearly indicating that the matter was settled. His mocking -smile struck Rudolph coward, and though his heart clamoured for open -recognition of Andromache, he was unable to force his tongue to break a -silence he felt to be mean and unmanly.</p> - -<p>“By the way, Rudolph, we have invited the Foreign Legations to dinner -at Kephissia, and there will be an expedition before dinner to Tatoi. -The young people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> will ride, and the elder ones will go by carriage. We -start at four, so you will not forget to look your best, and do your -utmost to entertain Mademoiselle Veritassi,” said the baron, from the -door.</p> - -<p>This last shot broke the deeps of holy indignation in the lover’s -heart. The Karapolos dined at half-past one. It would be discourteous -to call earlier than three. And how much time did that leave him for -Andromache? and he would be dragged away from her on the morrow. He -looked so candidly miserable and disappointed, that his aunt went over -to him, and kissed his forehead.</p> - -<p>“Is it your wish, aunt, that I should go with you this afternoon? Could -I not join you later in time for dinner at Kephissia?”</p> - -<p>“You poor child!” exclaimed the baroness, tenderly, smiling to herself -to think that he imagined them ignorant of his secret, and that it -should be so easy to manage and thwart him.</p> - -<p>“No, no, Rudolph. It would be an affront to our guests. You are like -the son of the house now, and your presence is indispensable to the -young people.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph sighed, and kissed his aunt’s plump hand in piteous and dumb -eloquence of protest and acquiescence. His eyes were full of tears as -he stood at his own window, and gazed like an angry, disappointed child -across the lovely hills and sudden sweeps of empty plain. Why had he -not spoken? Why had he not asserted himself? A man on the brink of -marriage ought surely to be able to take on himself the responsibility -of speech and decision. But there was the mocking smile of his uncle -that lashed him into petrified<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> cowardice, like a well-bred taunt, and -flushed him like a buffet, and how to make these worldly relations -understand the charm of innocence, the fragrance of a violet, the -beauty of an untutored heart?</p> - -<p>Punctually at three o’clock, he rapped with his silver-handled -walking-stick upon the glass door at the foot of Lycabettus. He had -learnt to ask in Greek for the ladies, and with a stare and smile of -frank familiarity, Maria supposed it was Andromache and not the others -he wanted. The Austrian aristocrat, to whom all evidences of democracy -and ill-bred freedom were repugnant, reproved her with a slight touch -of haughty insolence, and pointedly repeated his wish to see Kyria -Karapolos and her family.</p> - -<p>“Kyria Karapolos, the fair young foreigner, is here,” shouted Maria, -and left him to find his way into the little salon.</p> - -<p>“My dear Monsieur Ehrenstein, it is a pleasure to me to welcome you,” -said Kyria Karapolos, hastening to join him.</p> - -<p>Her French was fluent, but droll enough to make conversation with her a -surprise and a puzzle.</p> - -<p>“I have come to tell you that my uncle and aunt have planned an -excursion to the Peloponnesus, and they insist on my accompanying -them,” Rudolph began at once, very dolorously indeed.</p> - -<p>“Well, of course you must please your uncle and aunt. It will make -them the more disposed afterwards to assent to your happiness. Here is -Andromache. Monsieur Ehrenstein has to leave Athens for a little while. -It is quite right. He must not displease those who stand to him as -father and mother.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> - -<p>Andromache blanched to the lips, and then a wave of red flowed into her -face. Rudolph felt that he loved her more than ever, and while he held -her hand, a smile struggled through the pain of his eyes.</p> - -<p>“It is so cruel to have to leave you just now, Andromache.”</p> - -<p>She dared not trust herself to speak, for she hardly knew how much it -is permitted a modest maiden to say to her lover. But her pretty eyes -said a great deal more than she dreamed. Rudolph looked into them, and -a happy light broke over his face.</p> - -<p>“You grieve too, dear,” he said, softly.</p> - -<p>“Must you go, Rudolph?” she asked, tremulously.</p> - -<p>“Shall I go, sweet friend?”</p> - -<p>Andromache looked question at her mother.</p> - -<p>“Of course he must,” cried Kyria Karapolos. “It would be folly to anger -or thwart them in the beginning. Besides, it won’t be for long, and we -can be getting things ready for the wedding in the meantime.”</p> - -<p>“Am I to go, Andromache?” Rudolph still asked, holding her shy glance -boldly with his own.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she whispered.</p> - -<p>She took a little roll of embroidery from the pocket of her apron, and -applied herself to it eagerly, but the needle pricks marked tiny spots -of red along the cambric. Rudolph noted this, and anxiously cried out -that she was hurting him. Andromache looked up in amazement.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you understand?” asked this youth, suddenly growing subtle. “It -is my fingers you are so cruelly pricking with that sharp needle.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> - -<p>Andromache flashed him a joyous smile, and he bent forward, and held -both her hands to his mouth.</p> - -<p>“I love you, I love you,” he murmured, fondly.</p> - -<p>“Rudolph,” she said, and dropped her eyes.</p> - -<p>Kyria Karapolos thought proper to strike this growing heat chill with -a sound commonplace, by asking him if he had much land in Austria, and -what was the exact amount of his rent-roll.</p> - -<p>“I believe it amounts to five thousand, but my steward manages -everything for me. You may be assured, however, that I have quite -enough for Andromache and myself,” answered Rudolph, simply.</p> - -<p>This drove him to describe Rapoldenkirchen, and he necessarily -rhapsodised over its loveliness, and the happiness that awaited -Andromache in that shadowed home. And there in front of him was the -clock summoning him from heaven; it already pointed cruelly to the -stroke of four. He stood up and announced his hurry, shook hands with -Kyria Karapolos, and held a moment Andromache’s slim fingers, looking -sorrowfully into the shining March-violets he felt an irresistible -impulse to kiss.</p> - -<p>“You will think of me every day, dear?”</p> - -<p>“I will, Rudolph.”</p> - -<p>“Whisper. Am I very dear to you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Rudolph, I love you,” she cried, and broke down in simple passion.</p> - -<p>He stooped hurriedly and pressed his lips to her hair. In another -instant he was outside, tearing madly down the rough streets, splashing -his boots and clothes in the little streams, jumping over groups of -astonished babies,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> and racing, as if pursued by furies, past the -Platea Omonia and up the Patissia Road.</p> - -<p>There was a carriage outside the Austrian Embassy, and just as he got -inside, a group of riders bore down towards it.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur Rudolph will be down presently,” the major-domo explained, in -answer to the irritable inquiries of the baron.</p> - -<p>When Rudolph descended to the hall in his charming riding attire, -the baron surveyed him with a curious and amused smile, and nodded -approvingly.</p> - -<p>“There are some young ladies for you to look after. Spare them, I -entreat you,” and, in reply to Rudolph’s questioning look, added, -“Young ladies, you know, are weak and susceptible, and you wear an -abominably victimising air.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph jumped into the saddle with a very apparent want of alacrity. -Mademoiselle Veritassi smiled him welcome, and unconsciously he took -his place beside her. Three carriages carried the elders, and the party -of youthful riders nearly made the dozen. The air was blithe, the sun -shone gloriously and struck the landscape lucid green. The young blood -of the impressible Rudolph mounted to his head. The laughter of his -companions imparted its contagion to his bereaved heart; on he rode -with spring running music through his pulses, and caught by the mirth -of the landscape.</p> - -<p>The young people showed no destructive tendency to break into couples, -but kept one gay and impregnable party, laughing, joking, careering in -hearty rivalry to see who should out-distance the sedate carriage-folk, -chattering nonsense and enjoying the hour with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> frenzied intensity -of unperturbed youth. Mademoiselle Veritassi made a delightful -companion, with the charm of a well-bred boy, courteously brusque and -quizzically candid.</p> - -<p>Under the fire of her imperious glance the sundered, dolorous air -dropped from Rudolph, the wine of life coursed vigorously through his -veins, and he shouted laughter with the rest. They skirted the stations -of upper and lower Patissia under the blue shadows of the Parnes -mountains. The marble of Pentelicus, struck by the quivering sunbeams, -broke the delicate mist afar. On either side, the long waste of olive -plantations toned the joy of the scene by their sad colour, and brought -out the contrast of the emerald grasses of the underwoods, and the -variously-tinted reeds that edge the torrent of the river Cephissus. -The little German village of Heraclion showed white and yellow, with -solemn spaces of cypress, upon the sky of clear, unshadowed blue. -Flocks of white and black sheep were like moving mounds upon the -fields, and over all hung Pentelicus, a haze of grey heather and -dismantled branches where its marbles were not a dazzle of whiteness. -Rudolph was enchanted with everything—with the blurred hillsides and -the murmuring streams that curled in soft swirls along by the hedges, -with the goatherds following their capricious charges,—the villagers, -burnt brown, in the glory of fustanella, scarlet fez and smart -jackets, their long sleeves hanging back like idle wings,—with the -boys and their donkeys, and the women in embroidered coats and muslin -head-dresses.</p> - -<p>At Kephissia it was obligatory to dismount and hunt for the grotto of -nymphs, and then talk nonsense <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>beneath its dripping rocks and curtains -of maidenhair. It was even compulsory to taste of its water, and the -French viscount made a gallant allusion, and quoted the inevitable line -from Homer. Then on up the straight road to Tatoi, the arbutus in full -fruit, and on either side exquisite varieties of shrub and leaf and -winter flowers. The young ladies were eager to feed on the arbutus, -and sent their escorts to gather this ethereal nourishment. And when -they were replenished, and satisfied with the smirched and bramble-torn -condition of the cavaliers, they decorated their bosoms with the -berries, which showed like balls of blood upon their sombre habits. All -this necessarily involved much explosive mirth and many inarticulate -cries. And men and maidens rode on, convinced there is no delight to -match a ride through winter Athenian landscape, when the heart is -fresh, the eyes are clear, and the senses near the surface; when, above -all, there is plenty of arbutus-fruit for the gathering, cavaliers to -tear their gloves in its search through the bushes and brambles, and -attractive maidens to wear and eat it.</p> - -<p>What more potent than youth’s wild spirits? At dinner it was impossible -to say whether the young people or the old, to whom they had -communicated their irrepressible gaiety, were the more intoxicated. -What amazing tact and calculation were displayed by the Baron and -Baroness von Hohenfels! Well they understood the impressionable and -susceptible temperament they had to deal with when they gathered -together these gems of their society. Such brilliant eyes and laughing -teeth gleaming above the flowers, such whiz of airy and unseizable -nothings shot high on the wings of badinage,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> with the same intangible -flavour as the foam of champagne which plentifully drowned them. All -seemed specially conspiring to captivate the poor bereaved lover. And -so well did they succeed, that he quite forgot Andromache. It was only -after dinner, when Mademoiselle Veritassi was invited to sing, and -selected something weakly sentimental in French, all about hearts and -sighs and tears and parting, that the new-born babe, the infant Cupid, -began to clamour and blubber within him. Then he turned aside to think -of Andromache. He pressed his head against the window, and stared -blankly out upon the hotel gardens drenched with moonlight, the flowers -washed of all colour in their bath of silver.</p> - -<p>The baron saw him in this doleful attitude, and coming up behind him, -held one hand sentimentally upon his heart and the other stretched out, -in frantic adjuration to the moon.</p> - -<p>“Ma Photini, prépare ta toilette,” he sang.</p> - -<p>Rudolph faced him angrily, barely able to restrain the strong -exclamation that rushed to his lips.</p> - -<p>“No, I have just made better, that is, more appropriate verses. -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber is notorious for not greatly caring for dress. -Then it is clearly an offence to mention it.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph muttered the German equivalent for “bosh,” and walked away.</p> - -<p>Has any philosopher deigned to discover the reason why, when a party -of young folks start upon a boisterous expedition, and laugh until the -woods resound with their mirth, the return to the domestic hearth is -generally so silent and so depressed? They are bound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> to sigh, and look -at the stars, or at themselves, in a forlorn and disappointed way, and -wonder where and why all their wild enjoyment has vanished.</p> - -<p>Rudolph rode in front with Mademoiselle Veritassi, and remembered not -the existence of his companion, as his profound and troubled gaze -rested solemnly upon the dark landscape. The wavy hilltops stood far -out from the horizon, and the sky, instead of looking like a blue -shield against them, shot away like a sea of infinite mist. The night -air blew chilly round Athens, and the Viscount cheerfully suggested the -visit of those intemperate blasts that howl down from the encircling -hills with frantic force, and prove more than anything the exceeding -greatness of that mass of broken pillars and temples upon the Acropolis -that have resisted their destructive strength all these centuries.</p> - -<p>But the next day, though cold, was not thought unfit for travelling, -and, at an early hour, Rudolph was carried out of Athens to hear his -uncle spout and quote upon the plain of Marathon, where the anemones -were getting ready for their spring display. Pray, what did Rudolph -care about Miltiades? Had he not an intended brother-in-law of the -name worth ten such generals? Indeed, he hazarded the opinion that -the old one was greatly overrated, upon which his diplomatic uncle -smiled, as the wise smile upon the foolish—the smile of tolerant and -good-humoured superiority.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XX.</span> <span class="smaller">AT THE THEATRE.</span></h2> - -<p>Pericles carried his wounded brother to Phalerum for the period of -convalescence, which an incessantly choleric spleen indefinitely -prolonged. They stayed at the Grand Hotel looking upon the sanded -beach, made cheerful by the café-tables and the proximity of the -railway station, by which hosts of voluble Athenians were ever passing -and repassing. In the afternoon they lounged amid the olive trees by -the side of the hotel, athwart which the blue of sky and sea showed -sharply, and drank their coffee while Constantine eagerly devoured “The -Hora” and the “The Palingenesia,” ready to pounce like a hawk on its -prey upon the first chance acquaintance Providence, in the shape of the -half-hourly train, should send him from Athens.</p> - -<p>Pericles sat reading one of his favourite volumes, now and then pausing -to look watchfully at his daughter, and thankful in his heart to see -how well she bore her sorrow. Inarime was for a time laid prostrate -by Gustav’s banishment. And then youth’s elasticity rebounded with -unconquered force. Like a drenched bird, she shook out her wet plumes, -returned to her books, and saw that the sun was shining and that the -flowers were blooming—noted it unwearily and without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> dismay. To -recognise this much in the time of passionate absorption in self is -a rapid stride towards recovery, and at such a moment new scenes and -excitements of any sort work most potently.</p> - -<p>February had set in sharp and chill when they returned to Athens, -Constantine cured and spared the humiliation of seeing the town -illuminated in honour of the new Mayor, Oïdas. He insisted on bringing -Inarime to the ruinously expensive dressmaker, Madame Antoinette, and -there she was supplied with every imaginable detail of fashionable -toilet, crowned with a gorgeous red silk parasol and long embroidered -Suède gloves.</p> - -<p>Inarime, thus apparelled, stood before a cheval mirror, and placidly -gazed astonishment at herself. It was impossible to deny that dress -added glory to her beauty. Picturesque she had been before with a -fitting background of valley and desolate mountain. Now she was a nymph -of Paris in walnut-coloured silk, and a little coquettish hat tipped -with feathers.</p> - -<p>“Now you are fit to be seen in the streets of a capital, Inarime,” -said Constantine, surveying her proudly. “Take her with you to Madame -Jarovisky’s, Pericles.”</p> - -<p>Pericles took her, to Madame Jarovisky’s lasting gratitude. The girl -was a positive sensation. Several men stopped to congratulate her uncle -next day.</p> - -<p>“We must take her to the theatre. There is <i>Faust</i> on to-night. Every -one likes <i>Faust</i>, and it will delight Inarime, while she is delighting -others,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I see no objection to the theatre, but mind, Constantine, I will not -have the girl talked of. Remember what my great namesake says of women. -Their glory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> is the silence men observe upon them.” Here he quoted the -famous Oration.</p> - -<p>“Stuff and nonsense! Your mind is addled with that folly of the -Ancients. Who the deuce cares nowadays about silent virtue or the -violet blushing unseen? This is the age of advertisement. Get yourself -talked of, yourself, your house, your women—if not well, then by all -means ill. Only get the talk. Do you imagine I have not gone about -everywhere spreading the report of your learning? That is why you -receive so many cards of invitation. I extolled you to the director of -the German School of Archæology, and he was so impressed that he sends -you a request to attend their meeting next month.”</p> - -<p>Shame and disappointment struck scarlet Pericles’ sallow face. He -thought the letter the natural result of his own recognised and merited -reputation, mainly built upon a correspondence with one of the Greek -professors of the University of Bonn.</p> - -<p>“Brother,” he reproved, sternly, “it would afford me much satisfaction -if you would be good enough to discontinue mentioning abroad my name -and my daughter’s.”</p> - -<p>“Then I am curious to know how you intend to dispose of that girl of -yours.”</p> - -<p>Pericles sat still, and played musingly with his finger-tips.</p> - -<p>“I must marry her?” he interrogated, softly.</p> - -<p>“Marry her! What in the name of all the heathen gods else would -you do with her? Stick a professor’s cap on her head, and send her -out to lecture to a band of curious rascals like that rash and -self-opinionated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> young woman, Hypatia? You’d make a respectable Theon.”</p> - -<p>“His was the easier part. But Inarime would not be unworthy, though -it is the last career I should choose for her,” said Pericles, with a -quaint smile.</p> - -<p>“Exactly. You apprehend inflammable youth.”</p> - -<p>“I desire but to see my daughter live securely in the shade of -protection. There are times when I feel overwhelmed with a strange -sensation—half-illness, half the simple withdrawal of vitality. Then -it is that apprehensions and terror of a solitary future for that dear -girl assail and completely master me. I would have her married, and yet -it seems so improbable that I shall find a suitable partner, one to -whom her cultured intellect would be a noble possession, to whom her -beauty would be a thing of worship. There was one—alas! alas!”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s settled. You sent him about his business. It was a -foolish thing to do. Helene thinks so, too. A Turk! Well, we don’t -choose our nationality. Probably he would just as soon have been born -a Greek or a German. Let that pass. Turn the lock upon your desire for -culture and learning. They won’t put bread and olives into Inarime’s -mouth. Money, Pericles, money is what we must look to.”</p> - -<p>When consulted about the theatre, Inarime showed sufficient pleasure in -the prospect to quiet the doubts of her anxious father.</p> - -<p>“Come down to Antoinette, and get something pretty—very pretty,” -Constantine ordered. “You are not a fool, I suppose, and can take some -natural interest in your beauty.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am glad that I am beautiful,” she said, gravely.</p> - -<p>“Very well. Put on your hat, and we’ll drive at once to Antoinette,” -her uncle laughed hilariously. “Oh, women!”</p> - -<p>Conceive the efficiency of a Parisian dressmaker instructed to enhance -beauty. Bedeck Inarime then according to fancy, so that the costume be -both scientific and suitable.</p> - -<p>Constantine was master upon the occasion, ordered the carriage, secured -the box, and fussily did the honours to the bewildered islanders when -they arrived in the little back street in which the old theatre was -located. It was a most grotesque and shabby paper edifice, ugly, dirty, -unstable. But it was worth the tenth-rate Italian companies who hired -it, and usually left Athens, after the season, bankrupt. The men, -untroubled by feminine charges, sat in the parterre, King George’s -officers, of whom there are many, enjoyed the spectacle on half fees, -chattering, laughing, and ostentatiously clanking their spurs and -swords against the floor as they walked about between the acts. Here -and there an aspiring civilian made believe to come fresh from Paris by -appearing <i>en frac</i>, and impertinently focussed the constellation of -beauty in the box lined with cheap and ragged paper, and in the last -stage of dilapidation.</p> - -<p>They were playing the waltz when the Selakas entered their box. In -spite of excruciating fiddles, and tuneless and vulgar singers, it was -possible to detect its intoxicating charm, and Inarime sat and listened -with a pleased, abstracted expression, her elbow resting on the front -of the box and her chin against her cream-gloved hand. Constantine took -the seat beside her, in front,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> and audibly hummed the air while his -quick glance roved over the house. He saw Oïdas, the Mayor, opposite in -a box with his sister and his little motherless girl. They exchanged -an uncordial nod, and the Mayor raised his opera-glass to inspect -Inarime. He passed it to his sister, and they nodded and whispered -together. The young bloods below were soon enough conscious that there -was somebody in the boxes worth looking at. Many an eye was turned from -the middle-aged Marguerite, whose flaxen wig inartistically exposed the -black hair underneath and who wore a soiled white wrapper of uncertain -length, with grass-green bows down the front.</p> - -<p>With naïve earnestness Inarime followed the actors, listened to the -melodies, and frequently turned to bespeak her father’s attention. She -was acquainted with Goethe, and knew the story of Marguerite in its -classic form. But this sweet and voluptuous music was quite unfamiliar -to her. Of music, good or bad, she knew nothing, and had only -occasionally heard a village piper piping for the Arcadians to dance. -She could see that the dresses were dirty and tawdry, but the novelty -of beholding a tender love-scene for the first time acted even by a -stagy foolish Faust singing false, and by a cracked-voiced Marguerite -in a slovenly wrapper, with wig awry, to the accompaniment of squeaking -fiddles and hoarse ’cellos, brought tears of sympathy to her eyes. -Her emotions were too keenly touched to allow of her remembering the -necessity of wiping away her tears, and when the curtain went down, the -tell-tale drops had fallen on her cheek.</p> - -<p>“What a lovely young woman,” Agiropoulos <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>exclaimed, as he stood with -his back to the stage, and leisurely surveyed the occupants of the -boxes.</p> - -<p>“Where?” asked Rudolph, tolerantly.</p> - -<p>“Beside the Royal Box. She is with the gallant and fiery member for -Tenos.” Agiropoulos broke into laughter, and began to quote Constantine -at the Odeon. “‘I’ll mangle him, murder him, riddle him with shots,’ -and when it came to the point he had as much courage as a draggled hen.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph smiled faintly. He had heard the story before, and -Agiropoulos’s excessive spirits bored him. He turned round and looked -straight up at the Selaka group. He saw Inarime at once, wearing an -intense, almost tragic expression, as if the curtain had just gone down -upon her own first love-scene; some moments elapsed before he removed -his eyes from her.</p> - -<p>Constantine went away in search of an ice for his niece, and a little -distraction for himself in shape of gossip and a cigarette. He knocked -against Oïdas, and the rival politicians stopped to shake hands.</p> - -<p>“Is that your niece you have with you?” the Mayor asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes. She and Pericles are staying in town now.”</p> - -<p>“A very fine girl—I may say, a very beautiful one. Has your brother -any views with regard to her?”</p> - -<p>“Matrimonial?” queried Constantine, laughing.</p> - -<p>“Those, I think, are the only views fathers are supposed to entertain -about their daughters,” retorted Oïdas, with awkward, averted glance.</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course. He naturally cherishes the hope to dispose of her some -day with entire satisfaction to her and to himself.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Anybody in question?”</p> - -<p>Constantine faced his interrogator boldly, narrowed his eyelids to a -sly, meditative slit, and answered:—</p> - -<p>“You think of offering yourself, perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“I should certainly have no objection to a beautiful young wife. She -has a dowry, I presume.”</p> - -<p>“I presume so,” said Selaka, shutting up his lips in a portentous way. -“But there is something else to be considered besides your willingness.”</p> - -<p>“Undoubtedly. Still, it is a sufficiently important point. That is why -I mention it.”</p> - -<p>Constantine understood perfectly well that such wealth as Oïdas’ -entitled its owner to his confident air. No sane father would be likely -to reject or hesitate before such an offer as this, and the girl would, -of course, be guided by her father.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” conceded the wily Constantine.</p> - -<p>“Begin by introducing me at once,” suggested the Mayor.</p> - -<p>The aspiring Mayor was carried triumphantly to the Selakas’ box. -The introduction enabled Oïdas to relieve Inarime of her saucer, -which he did with ponderous civility. She was hot and wretched in -spite of the eaten ice. Of the Mayor’s presence she took no note; in -spirit she gazed gloomily back upon the departed vision of Gustav -so harrowingly evoked by the music. Oïdas devoted himself to Selaka -with an occasional inclusive droop towards Inarime, whom he furtively -and appraisingly observed. Into his box opposite Stavros entered, -circumspect, thoroughly unobstructive, having joined the Government and -resigned the editorship of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> the “New Aristophanes.” He looked casually -at Constantine, and bit his underlip, it might be to restrain a blush -or a smile. In the next box, just before the curtain went up on the -second act, Miltiades rose like an evening sun upon the amazed scene, -in <i>grande tenue</i>, cheerfully attended by his mother and Andromache.</p> - -<p>“Your twin-soul,” whispered Agiropoulos. “Hector is called.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph turned round quickly, beheld Andromache with soft invitation -in her glance, jumped up, and in passing down the house, his eyes -rested for one moment on Inarime’s face. He withdrew them angrily, in -the delicate belief that even a dim consciousness of any other woman’s -beauty but his own particular lady’s was almost a deliberate disloyalty.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Rudolph, have you not seen her? Is she not beautiful?” Andromache -enthusiastically asked, as she turned round her affectionate and -glowing face to his when greetings were over, and he had taken his -recognised place behind her chair.</p> - -<p>“Who?” Rudolph whispered; rapture demanding that their lightest words -should be folded in mystery.</p> - -<p>Andromache pointed to the Selaka box. The young man looked steadily -across over Andromache’s shoulder, frowned a little, and admitted -grudgingly:</p> - -<p>“She is handsome, but not soft and sweet like my Andromache.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Rudolph!” Andromache flashed on him delightedly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> - -<p>He had only the day before come back from the Peloponnesus, and in a -week he hoped to have summoned up courage to declare his honourable -bondage to the baron, and start for Austria to conclude pre-nuptial -arrangements.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXI.</span> <span class="smaller">A CHORUS OF ATHENIAN MAIDENS.</span></h2> - -<p>When Constantine lighted his niece’s candle and handed it to her, he -touched Pericles on the arm and nodded.</p> - -<p>“I want you to smoke a cigarette with me before going to bed. I have -something to say to you.”</p> - -<p>Pericles suffered himself to be led into the sitting-room, and -proceeded to roll up a cigarette while his brother lighted the lamp.</p> - -<p>“We are agreed upon the advisability of at once marrying Inarime, I -suppose?” he began.</p> - -<p>“At once!” Pericles exclaimed, in alarm.</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Think of her recent wound. She behaved so well. I cannot in conscience -so soon do wrong to the memory of her lover.”</p> - -<p>“Sentiment! The world only exists by ignoring it. What have the fancies -of girls to do with suitable family arrangements? I declare you are -as great a fool as the child herself. A young woman permits herself -the blamable freedom of looking complacently upon a young man who has -not been officially chosen for her. She must perforce think herself a -martyr and her guardians executioners, when it becomes necessary for -them to reprimand her and order her to withdraw her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> prematurely fixed -affections. Good gracious! It is preposterous. We might as well be in -England or in some equally wild place, where girls are unprotected and -forward.”</p> - -<p>“Whom have you in view?” Pericles quietly asked, bringing the orator -back to the point.</p> - -<p>“Oïdas.”</p> - -<p>“The Mayor! Why, he is a widower and nearly as old as myself.”</p> - -<p>“What does it matter? He is rich and influential. Inarime will have a -handsome house,—you know that colonnaded building near the Palace? -Well, when a man has such a house as that to offer a woman, she need -not trouble to examine the wrinkles on his forehead or the crowsfeet -under his eyes, or whether his hair be grey or black or red. All things -are relative, Pericles, even youth and beauty. It depends on the purse.”</p> - -<p>“But have you any proof that Kyrios Oïdas is disposed to think of my -daughter?”</p> - -<p>“The best possible. He told me so to-night.”</p> - -<p>Pericles started, and stared doubtingly at his brother.</p> - -<p>“You do not credit me, I see, but it is true, I assure you. He -admires her, wants a wife, asked if she had a dowry, and notified his -willingness to demand her in marriage.”</p> - -<p>“He is a rich man, undoubtedly,” Pericles slowly admitted, remembering -just then that Reineke had not started by considerations of the dowry. -“In his country women are bought,” he said to himself, “in ours their -husbands are purchased. It is merely an opinion on which side the -barter is more honourable.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You consent then to my calling to-morrow on Oïdas with an official -communication and recognition?”</p> - -<p>“It is too soon,” Pericles pleaded.</p> - -<p>“It is never too soon to marry your child well.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you are right. I would have chosen a younger man. However, -do not precipitate matters. I must know more of this Oïdas. He is a -politician, and you know my feelings towards that class of men. It -is just possible he may be less disreputable and illiterate than the -general run. He cannot be an honourable man upon your own admission, -for he stooped to buy the influence of that reptile, Stavros.”</p> - -<p>“True, but all politicians do so. The greater they are, the more -unscrupulous. It is part of their <i>métier</i>, as callousness to pain is -of the surgeon’s. You have studied history and I have not; then this -fact you must have learnt.”</p> - -<p>“Sometimes the loose political mind may prove itself more keenly -apprehensive of correct deductions than that of the studiously trained -thinker,” Pericles rejoined, with a subtle smile. “Doubtless it is I -who am in error.”</p> - -<p>“This is idle wandering. I’ll grant you anything in argument, only -grant me in turn the consideration of Oïdas’ proposals and his formal -reception.”</p> - -<p>Pericles thought awhile, then rose and stretched his arms.</p> - -<p>“There will be nothing incorrect in receiving him. I cannot settle -straight off to marry Inarime to him, but I agree with you that his -proposals are worth considering. He is not the man I should have -selected,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> and that is why I hesitate to compromise our honour. But he -can come. I will not coerce my child. It is for her to say whether he -will stay.”</p> - -<p>This concession was more than Constantine had dared to hope for, -and his spirits rose to the point of exuberance next morning when -an invitation came from Madame Jarovisky’s for Inarime to attend an -afternoon party for young people given in honour of her daughter’s -birthday.</p> - -<p>There were about twenty young ladies and mature little girls, with a -sprinkling of boys and youths from the military and naval schools, at -Madame Jarovisky’s when Inarime entered the rooms, escorted by her -father. The chaperons retired to the salon downstairs, to refresh -themselves with tea and return to their homes, or stay and watch the -youngsters disport and play. By and by Miltiades came, that prince of -masters of ceremonies, especially invited to conduct the cotillon, and -show the small rabble how to dance the mazurka. Could a hero object -to shine and lead, even in minute and giggling society? Heavens above -us! What would be the result of an entertainment in Athens without -Miltiades? Confusion, scare, and disgrace,—worse, the privation of its -most picturesque adornment, and its crown of military glory.</p> - -<p>The young ladies of Athens were there in every stage, little women -dressed like dolls, flirting and pouting with grave little old men of -ten and twelve; girls in tutelage, breaking from their governess to -dance a riotous quadrille with the future defenders of their country -upon land and water; and lastly, the self-conscious and important -“demoiselles à marier,” who play <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>Chopin’s Second Nocturne to the -desolation of those who understand Chopin, chatter ceaselessly in -indifferent French, draw flowers and keep albums for the collection of -all the heart-broken verses in European tongues. Into this lively and -flippant circle Inarime was at once whirled with voluble cordiality and -cries of frantic enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Eméraude Veritassi was the presiding archangel, in the -artistic setting of the expensive Antoinette. The angels were Miss -Mary Perpignani, Sappho Jarovisky, Andromache Karapolos, Proserpine -Agiropoulos, and the young ladies of the American legation. Eméraude -was the key to the general mood,—she was captain of a pliable and -sensitive band of very amiable young marauders. She welcomed Inarime -avidly, with the frankest smile and a swift approval of her toilet. The -others clustered round her and somewhat bewildered her with this sudden -introduction to noisy unmeditative girlhood. Of the mind and ways of -girls she was savagely ignorant, we know, and all these laughing faces -and softly brilliant glances, turned upon her, shook her with surprise -and terror. Could it be that she was one of them and so aloof, so -absolutely unlike and out of sympathy with them? Joy and vigour were -abounding in them, the susceptible and intoxicating blood of youth and -its untamable pulses, gave fire to their eyes and chased reflection -from their minds. When they danced together, or with boys of their -own age, their steps sprang over the polished floor with the urgent -impetuosity of their years. When they stood near her, and panted and -laughed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> between their gasping speech, she felt as the Peri might, -gazing upon happiness afar.</p> - -<p>She envied these absurd and frivolous maidens, envied them -their untroubled youth,—beside which her own looked sad and -grey-toned,—their free hearts and meaningless laughter, their -twinkling feet and innocent sentimentality.</p> - -<p>“You do not dance,” said Eméraude, pausing beside her after a wild -waltz, with fluttering bosom, like a pursued bird.</p> - -<p>“I have never danced. I have never met girls before,” Inarime answered, -with a sharp note of regret in her voice.</p> - -<p>Imagine the consternation and the wonder on the faces around her. -Eméraude was naturally spokeswoman for the party. She expressed an -opinion that the conversation should be carried on in Greek instead of -French.</p> - -<p>“Then we shall have to speak our best Greek,” cried Sappho, having -heard of Inarime’s learning. “Mademoiselle Selaka speaks the language -of Plutarch.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” exclaimed Inarime, with a deprecating smile. “I have -the current Athenian at your service. Except with my father, I am -accustomed to speak the rough brogue of our island.”</p> - -<p>“There is just the faintest perceptible tinge of the Archipelago in -your accent,” affirmed Eméraude, authoritatively. “This is your first -visit to Athens?”</p> - -<p>“My first.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, are you not happy to be here?” carolled Andromache. “Athens—ah! -it is so lovely. I could not leave it.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Tell us of your life in Tenos,” said Eméraude, taking up the dominant -melody of the concerto, and at once the chorus of followers pressed -their captain’s demand with an inarticulate cry of accentuated -agreement.</p> - -<p>“It is very simple. I read and walk with my father, and when not thus -occupied, I help Annunziata in housework or I write letters for the -villagers.”</p> - -<p>“Annunziata! That is a pretty name. Italian?”</p> - -<p>“She is Greek, of remotely Italian origin.”</p> - -<p>“And why do you write letters for the villagers?” asked Sappho. “Can -they not write themselves?”</p> - -<p>“None of the women in the villages of Lutra, Xinara, or Mousoulou can -write but myself.”</p> - -<p>“How marvellous!” exclaimed Miss Perpignani, and the girls wore a look -of interjection.</p> - -<p>“Are there goats?”</p> - -<p>Inarime stared a little at such an obviously foolish question. Her -steady luminous gaze struck chill upon the volatile young circle, and -for an instant checked their chatter. Then some one broke the uneasy -silence.</p> - -<p>“How about your dresses? You must leave Tenos when you want new -clothes. This pretty frock is surely Athenian.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that is because I am here, and my uncle wishes me to be dressed -like everybody else, but hitherto I have had my dresses made at Tenos. -They are well made too.”</p> - -<p>“Not possible! Like ours, in the modern fashion?”</p> - -<p>Inarime lightly scanned the costumes round her.</p> - -<p>“I do not think Tenos could produce anything like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> these,” she said, -simply, “but then we would not know what to do with them over there.”</p> - -<p>“Do you live far from the town?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, a good way. It takes nearly three hours by mule.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you have no carriages in Tenos?”</p> - -<p>“There are no roads to begin with, and in consequence no vehicles of -any sort. It is a very rough, wild place.”</p> - -<p>“And now you have come to Athens to be married,” concluded Eméraude. -“Do you look forward to marriage?”</p> - -<p>A dusky colour shot up into Inarime’s face like a hidden flame. She -fixed her eyes slowly on Mademoiselle Veritassi.</p> - -<p>“If it is my father’s wish that I should marry, it will be my duty to -obey him, but I trust he will not ask it of me.”</p> - -<p>Another look of wondering consternation flashed over the circle. Not -wish to marry! have a house of her own and take precedence of unmarried -girls! be somebody in social life, give parties and travel!</p> - -<p>“I thought all girls liked the notion of getting married,” remarked -Miss Mary Perpignani. “It is so dull to be unmarried, not to be able to -go out alone, or to go to Antoinette’s and order what you like. Just -think how delightful it must be to be free, like a young man, and do -all sorts of lovely naughty things, dance twice if you like with the -handsomest officer without any one to tell you it is not <i>convenable</i>, -and read all the dreadful French novels. We poor girls are so harassed -with that horrid word <i>convenable</i>. To see little boys at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> age of -ten allowed to stand on their heads and we, aching for liberty, not -allowed to budge at thirty if we are not married!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, shocking to think of, as the English say,” cried Sappho, clapping -her hands to her ears to shut out the spoken description. “We are -martyrs, we unhappy girls.”</p> - -<p>“Your faces belie your misery,” said Inarime, gravely.</p> - -<p>“Que voulez-vous, Mademoiselle?” Eméraude retorted, gaily, “nous -autres, nous sommes á peu près Françaises. Il faut être bien mis et -savoir rire malgré tout. Avent de me tuer, je mettrai ma plus jolie -robe.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, ma chère, ma chère,” the shocked angels chorussed. Then turning to -Inarime, one of them soothed her perplexity.</p> - -<p>“Don’t pay any heed to the exaggerations of Eméraude. She likes to -frighten people. She talks that way, but she means nothing. Comme tu -sais blaguer, Eméraude.”</p> - -<p>“Mais, point du tout. Je suis sérieuse. Qu’est ce que serait la vie -si l’on ne savait pas se moquer de ses chagrins, au lieu de s’en -attrister?” protested Eméraude.</p> - -<p>“I applaud your sentiment. Cheerfulness I should imagine to be the -lesson of life and our highest aspiration,” said Inarime.</p> - -<p>“It is not mine, assuredly,” cried Sappho. “My dream is excitement—oh, -but the excitement that consumes and fills up every hour, waking -and sleeping. I should adore being married to a man I hated, rich, -powerful and commanding, of whom I was desperately afraid, and to be -in love with a poor, divinely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> beautiful young officer. To think of -the thrilling terrors and consuming bliss of meetings at parties, at -theatres, in picture galleries, horribly shadowed by a jealous husband, -only time to whisper a hurried greeting and look into each other’s -eyes——”</p> - -<p>Be assured this rash prospective sinner was in mind as innocent of a -sinister meaning as in limpid gaze. Mademoiselle Veritassi measured her -scornfully.</p> - -<p>“You have probably been taking your first plunge into Feuillet in -secret, and are talking of what you do not in the least understand. -You would find your young officer a complete idiot, and his divinely -beautiful face would soon enough pall on you. Love, romantic or -otherwise, will not be my domain. I aspire to marry a man of moderate -intelligence, pliable, of the world and of the best tone, with the -doors of a foreign embassy open to him, whom I shall mould and lead, -and whose fortune I shall make. My dream is more legitimate, though -from the purely masculine point of view, hardly less incorrect than -Sappho’s.”</p> - -<p>“And yours?” Andromache asked shyly of Inarime.</p> - -<p>“Mine? I have none. I have not felt the need for excitement or novelty. -My quiet, uneventful life has hitherto amply satisfied me—until -lately, until quite lately,” she added, with a slight break in her -voice.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Veritassi scrutinised her through narrowed lids, and -smiled imperceptibly.</p> - -<p>“You speak German, I am told, fluently. I presume you had a governess.”</p> - -<p>“No, my father was my tutor. He taught me everything that I know.”</p> - -<p>“Your father! and no governess! And embroidery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> music, drawing and the -rest?” Mademoiselle Veritassi gasped.</p> - -<p>“I know nothing of such graceful accomplishments. With books I am -acquainted, and though I have never measured my speed with any -other girl’s, my father tells me I am a swift runner. But girls so -brilliantly finished as you will laugh to hear me speak of running.”</p> - -<p>“No, no. It is charming. A modern Atlanta. You are truly a divine -creature. As for us, our futile accomplishments are mere gossamer -wings to skim to social heights for which we are destined. There they -drop from us, and their instability is their only charm. Yours are of -solider weight, with the merit of corresponding permanence.”</p> - -<p>“It is kind of you to reassure me thus, but I know my value. I am only -a bookish peasant.”</p> - -<p>“Eméraude is right,” Miss Perpignani cooed, caressingly. “You are a -divine creature—beautiful as a picture.”</p> - -<p>Inarime glanced pitifully at the youthful leader whose voice to these -girls was as the voice of fame. Her own intellect was rare, and her -knowledge profound, and yet she was humiliated and acutely conscious of -her inferiority to this dainty damsel, who fluttered and flirted her -fragile fan with inimitable grace, and wore her girlhood with an air of -sovereignty that came of twenty years’ sway at home and abroad. We may -divine that it was the extreme fastidiousness of the heiress and only -child that allowed her to reach twenty unclaimed.</p> - -<p>“You have but to wish it to outstrip us all on our own ground. But, I -beseech you, spare us. Think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> what rivalry with you would mean for us. -The sun above the stars. Be content with your beauty and your books, -and do not ask to descend to the mere social arena. For me, I ask -nothing better than to be your friend.”</p> - -<p>The little ones had come to the end of their hour of rhythmic movement, -and Miltiades, beaming in the splendour of black and gold, was -officiously telling off the couples for the cotillon. He approached the -girls, and asked if Mademoiselle Selaka would dance. Inarime shook her -head.</p> - -<p>“Do, do, dear Inarime—may I?” pleaded Mademoiselle Veritassi. “It will -give us all such pleasure to watch you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” chorused the followers.</p> - -<p>“But I cannot dance, alas!” Inarime murmured.</p> - -<p>“Your voice is like velvet, and yet clear though so softly murmurous. -Do not fear. It is quite simple. Pray be persuaded. Captain Karapolos -will guide you.”</p> - -<p>Inarime suffered herself to be led across the room to the spot where -the couples were noisily forming themselves. Just then she saw Rudolph -Ehrenstein enter with the Baroness von Hohenfels on his arm, who -surveyed the young people through her <i>face-à-main</i> with a complacent -smile. The smile intensified when Inarime came under its rays, while -Rudolph and Andromache were looking far too eloquently at each other. -Inarime understood the mute avowal of momently wedded orbs, and a -thrill of remembered delight and anguish swept over her like a blast.</p> - -<p>O bliss too fleeting, and O pain too sweet!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXII.</span> <span class="smaller">FORESHADOWING A CRISIS IN RUDOLPH’S CAREER.</span></h2> - -<p>The constant dropping of the waters of opposition upon the stone of -Pericles’ obstinacy showed the proverbial result. It was worn away -in a few days, at the end of which time he yielded to his brother’s -persuasions and admitted that a daughter is a ticklish charge for one -sane man, only armed with the controlling influences of a father. -His girl, he at first argued, was not quite as other girls—she was -steadfast, sincere and earnest. He had not yet perceived any tendency -in her to the sex’s frantic moodishness and dizzy variations. True, -the god Cupid had mastered her at a single glance with alarming -urgence. But an antique-modern Greek found excuse in his heart for -the headstrong vagaries of the eternally youthful god. He announced -himself ready to transfer his responsibilities to Oïdas, if he proved -acceptable to Inarime. He was not exuberant at the prospect, nor in the -least hurry. But he permitted Oïdas to visit with prospectively nuptial -intentions, and left the rest to the gods.</p> - -<p>Oïdas came. He came very often, hardly noticed by Inarime, beyond the -fact that his coming provided her with flowers, and that he frequently -conducted her to the theatre where she heard the surfeiting honey -strains of Bellini and Verdi, and to the Saturday concerts at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> -Parnassus Club of which he was president, where Bellini and Verdi were -also in the ascendant.</p> - -<p>“Have you any feeling towards Kyrios Oïdas?” her father once ventured -to ask.</p> - -<p>“Feeling! I have not remarked him specially. He is polite, but I should -imagine not interesting,” Inarime replied.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” interjected Selaka, with an air of partial self-commiseration. -Having made up his mind after prolonged doubting upon so minor a point, -to accept Oïdas for a son-in-law, it was disconcerting to learn that -the chosen one had made none but a very dubious impression upon the -principal personage of the duet.</p> - -<p>He lightly dismissed the fact as another proof of the singular and -incorrigible perversity of woman, not even to be counteracted by such -anomalous training and education as he had given this particular one.</p> - -<p>Not to be out of the fashion, the Baroness von Hohenfels had -rapturously taken up the new beauty. Inarime was frequently invited to -the Austrian Embassy, and her acquaintance with Mademoiselle Veritassi -and her band progressed to intimacy. The delight of joyous youth that -lives unthinkingly upon the beating of its own pulses struck dormant -rays from her closed nature. She shook off the shadow of her own calm -past and emerged from gloom, a radiant being, now and then weighted -with her recent heavy bereavement, only to rebound again into realms -of intoxicating instability. The friction of her natural forces with -these laughing creatures urged her upward, and a return to the desolate -solitude of a world unblessed by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> the presence of her lover, left her -amazed, incredulous and giddy.</p> - -<p>The trashy music she had heard struck her as enchantment, until -Mademoiselle Veritassi chilled her enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>“Do you sometimes go to the theatre?” she queried.</p> - -<p>“Here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Mon Dieu! When I want to go to the theatre, I go to Paris or Vienna,” -said Mademoiselle Veritassi, superciliously.</p> - -<p>“Is it not good here?”</p> - -<p>“It is vulgar rubbish—good enough for the Athenians, but not for those -who have heard music and seen acting. My child, you have yet to see a -theatre.”</p> - -<p>This was food for reflection, and another proof of her inferiority to -these bewildering nymphs of society. The next time Oïdas made soft -proposals touching Verdi and Bellini, Inarime curtly declined them.</p> - -<p>“I have intimated to Kyrios Oïdas my entire willingness to receive him -into my family,” said Pericles one day to his brother. “It now remains -for him to try his fortunes with Inarime, to whom I shall previously -communicate his intentions. But I desire that the matter may be -speedily settled. This frivolous, noisy existence wearies me. I yearn -for my books and the quiet of my mountain home.”</p> - -<p>“But are you not pledged to attend the meeting of the German School -which takes place in ten days?”</p> - -<p>“I will come back for it. Besides, Annunziata writes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> for my immediate -presence. The steward is not giving satisfaction.”</p> - -<p>Inarime entered, modernised beyond recognition in a flimsy grey silk -gown slashed with crimson and shaded greens, a belt from which depended -ribbons of these mixed hues that floated in the breeze and arrested the -distracted glance, with hair which swelled above the mild brow to a -pyramidal crown of shadow and threw out bronze and bluish lights, its -rippling massy softness in complete harmony with the equable, studious -face.</p> - -<p>“Why thus early decked in bird of Paradise hues?” laughed Selaka, -quietly.</p> - -<p>“Mademoiselle Veritassi and her brother are to call for me shortly.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I forgot. You grow dissipated, my dear. It seems to me your books -are now quite forsaken for the society of these chattering young -persons. Voices, voices, voices, and meaningless laughter I hear as I -pass you in the salon. What in heaven’s name have they to say?”</p> - -<p>“Well, not much that is worth listening to, I am afraid,” Inarime -admitted, with a little apologetic smile. “And they fly from one -subject to another so quickly, exchange interjections and telegraphic -remarks, scattered phrase with sharp hiatus till I am compelled to give -up all hope of following them, having missed their airy education. But -the sound of their voices is pretty to the ear—that is, not the sound -itself, but its suggestions.”</p> - -<p>“Then you are satisfied that you have enough amiable reminiscences -to carry back with you to the solitudes of Tenos?” Pericles -half-commented, just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> looking at Constantine to signify his wish to be -left alone with his daughter.</p> - -<p>Inarime sighed. Tenos seemed so very far away from her.</p> - -<p>“We are going back, my child. Do you not rejoice?”</p> - -<p>“Back! So soon! You have enjoyed your visit, father?”</p> - -<p>“It is for you to decide. Your pleasure is mine, dearest.”</p> - -<p>Her face clouded. Confronted with her ruthlessly severed heart the -phrase sounded hollow.</p> - -<p>“I have almost forgotten that I was unhappy,” she whispered.</p> - -<p>Pericles gazed at her in amazement. He would have staked his life on -this girl’s stability and firmness. Here was a curious proof of the -inexplicable lightness and variability of the feminine temper. Who was -to sound its depths or follow its breathless changes? Man, he concluded -(not originally, who can be original on the theme?) treads a mine when -he essays to read the book of woman, even in the chapter of his own -daughter. The simplest page holds promise of explosion and surprise. -Philosophy shrinks from the task, as beyond the hard unimaginative male -intelligence.</p> - -<p>“You wish to remain here?” he interrogated.</p> - -<p>“I think I do,” she breathed through her teeth reluctantly. “To return -to Tenos would mean so much for me. It was good of you, father, to give -me this change.”</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” Selaka interposed, with a disappointed air. “Happily -the emotions of your strange sex are ever ready to come to your aid. -Sorrow is not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>incurable, because you answer so readily to the spur -of distraction. Perhaps you will bend as compliantly to the sound of -wedding-bells.”</p> - -<p>“No, I will not,” she retorted, harshly.</p> - -<p>“If I ask it, Inarime?” he bent forward.</p> - -<p>“It would not be fair. You have the right to dispose of me, I know, but -I ought not to be tried beyond my strength.”</p> - -<p>“Do not speak as if it were possible I should be other than your -best friend, with your interests exclusively my own,” protested -Selaka, affectionately. “But it is the duty of the old to remember -the future for the young. Marriage is the natural termination of a -girl’s irresponsible existence. I, as your guardian, am bound to find -you a suitable mate. You mentioned just now that here at Athens you -had forgotten that you were unhappy. That struck me as a singularly -pregnant observation—it felicitously summed up your sex. What then -can there be objectionable in my proposal to settle you permanently at -Athens?”</p> - -<p>He awaited her reply as if he expected compliance.</p> - -<p>“I spoke of change preluding a return to the old life. It pleased me -to feel that I had pushed it away from me for awhile, that I was aloof -from it, beholding entirely new scenes and hearing foreign voices. That -change I know I wanted to keep me from a merely whimpering discontent. -I wish to be strong, father, and hate to succumb to weakness.”</p> - -<p>“Prove your wish for strength by casting from you sentimental -chains. Your objection is purely sentimental. Remember the lesson -of the ancients. We perceive the ideal, and hasten to make our best -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>compromise with the actual. Love is the unattainable draught. We are -sometimes permitted to bring our lips within measurable distance from -the rim of the bowl, and then it is withdrawn. Some of us are given one -sip of the nectar and must go thirsty ever afterwards. We live the life -of the flesh, which is common and crude enough, and nourish our starved -spirit upon memory. That is the lesson of experience, but we need not, -for that, feel ourselves curtained off from cheerfulness and contented -labour.”</p> - -<p>He watched her attentively. All the light had fled from her face.</p> - -<p>“You wish me to marry Kyrios Oïdas,” she said, after a pause.</p> - -<p>“You have rightly guessed. He is not a scholar, I have to admit, and a -modern politician does not fill me with admiration; but he is wealthy, -and will take care of you. It will be for you to shine, and I dare say -he will be proud enough of you.”</p> - -<p>“If he were a scholar I could understand,” she exclaimed. “But simple -money! Father, you are not material. You are not tired of me?”</p> - -<p>“Tired? I? Of you?”</p> - -<p>Pericles fondled her hand, and laughed.</p> - -<p>“But you wish me to leave you for this man, who is only rich.”</p> - -<p>“I shall not live forever, and a husband will be your proper protector. -Poverty would not be a recommendation in a suitor, I imagine.”</p> - -<p>“But you are not so old, and there are long days before us.”</p> - -<p>“Who knows? I have been warned of late that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> am not very strong. It -is decided. You must marry.”</p> - -<p>“Kyrios Oïdas?”</p> - -<p>“I am compromised—pledged.”</p> - -<p>She bent her head, and at that moment the bell announced the arrival of -her friends.</p> - -<p>The Baroness von Hohenfels, hearing of Selaka’s intended departure and -a meditated return for the meeting of the German School, called and -warmly pressed Inarime to stay with her during M. Selaka’s absence. -She would not hear of refusal. There was a room at the Embassy at -Mademoiselle Selaka’s disposal; her friends would be desolated to lose -her so soon—in fact, she must come.</p> - -<p>“You will not have time to miss me, Inarime,” Pericles sang out -cheerily from the doorstep, as she drove away in the Baroness’s -carriage, her engagement still hanging in the balance of indecision. -She had some faint hope of consulting the baroness, and seeking -strength and resolution in her judgment.</p> - -<p>Inarime took the Austrian Embassy by storm. That evening Rudolph -returned from a short absence at Vienna, where he had been bound -on pre-nuptial affairs, intending to startle his family by the -announcement of his engagement to Andromache and his determination to -marry immediately. Tongues were already set wagging, and vague and -disconcerting reports had reached the baron and baroness. But their -faith was built on the genius of Mademoiselle Veritassi. Rudolph might -waver and glory in other chains of captivity, but he would end by -sullenly admitting the superlative charm and conquering force of the -girl of fashion.</p> - -<p>He came back, saw Inarime, fell prostrate in new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> adoration, tugged -with feeble heart-strings by the soft glimmer of the March violets he -remorsefully shrank from seeking.</p> - -<p>The diplomatic baron, too, stumbled into captivity, assisted in his -fall by the baroness, herself under the spell of Inarime’s beauty. -Indeed, not one of the three had shown a spark of resistance.</p> - -<p>The heavy ambassador danced hourly attendance upon the young goddess, -and under her glance, sparkled, astounded spectators by feats of -chivalry and semi-veiled gallantry that turned the clock of time for -him back by twenty years. Ah, but his enslavement was not a serious -defection. There was the wretched Rudolph, held breathless by his own -faithlessness and variable heart-beats. The feeling he gave Andromache -was but a rushlight, compared with this blaze of fire. He slept not, -nor did he eat. Life died within him out of Inarime’s presence, and was -flame in his members when she was near him. The old fancy dropped from -him like a toy; this was a consuming need, a poignant hunger with his -uprising, and a hunger with added thirst upon his lying down.</p> - -<p>To Inarime he was merely a dull and pretty boy to whom it behoved her -to show some kindness and forbearance. His gloomy blue eyes fixed -silently upon her, vaguely irritated her, and she put command into -hers to check their persistent following. Still she preferred him to -his uncle, whose gallant attentions and man-of-the-world deference -vexed and fretted her. His was a novel language to her, and she -hesitated to read it lest there might be studied insult beneath it. -From the baroness she heard of Rudolph’s unfortunate <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>entanglement -with Andromache, and upon pressure of confidence, admitted her -father’s desire to see her married to Oïdas, whom she did not like -or even moderately esteem. She imagined Rudolph forcibly separated -from Andromache, and read in that fact his evident unhappiness, -which appealed to her for sympathy and touched her with the wand of -brotherhood.</p> - -<p>Photini was invited to play for her pleasure, and this introduction to -the highest music was astonishment to her. Her fine nature recognised -mastery, though the riddle was unexplained to her senses. She could -not at a leap mount such heights of sound, where the melodies seemed -to disport in waves and thunder, with sprays of foam and the facets of -jewels. She approached Photini for help.</p> - -<p>Photini measured her mercilessly with her formidable gaze,—dwelt on -her physical exquisiteness, and smiled sardonically.</p> - -<p>“You have beauty, mademoiselle. Be thankful for that, and leave art to -those who have souls to comprehend it.”</p> - -<p>“Finger-tips as well, and perseverance,” said Inarime, archly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I see. You are not a doll. Well, come to see me any morning, and -I’ll play till your ears ache.”</p> - -<p>Photini turned on her heel, and beckoned to Rudolph, who gloomily -trotted after her into the conservatory.</p> - -<p>Selaka returned to Athens for the meeting of German archæologists, and -was cordially invited to stay for a few days at the Austrian Embassy.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIII.</span> <span class="smaller">A MEETING ON THE ACROPOLIS.</span></h2> - -<p>March came and went in a whirlwind of storm and rain that lasted a -fortnight. Every one susceptible to atmospheric influences was ill and -unhappy, and the wind sobbed and shrieked like the ghosts of centuries -crying to be laid. And now, on this first evening, the storm went down, -with a little sigh running through the quieted air, like a child’s -remembered sob in dreaming. The orange and lemon trees were in full -blossom, and the Palace gardens wore “the glory and the freshness of a -dream.”</p> - -<p>Gustav Reineke stood between the pillars of the Parthenon and watched -the sky after sunset. The zenith was clear purple upon which light -clouds traced along milky way with edges torn into threadlets of white -that curled and lost themselves, shading off to rose upon the eastern -horizon. He watched cream deepen into orange, and spread a mist upon -the blue, and the azure faint into pearly grey, while the cirrhus arch -shifted itself slowly, and dropped behind the hills. The west was a -lake of unsullied gold, so pure that the eye could follow the birth of -cloud-stains upon it and the flames of crimson and orange striking fire -from its heart. Over Lycabettus shone a tremulous radiance, half pink, -half opal, and above the blue was shot with silver and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> green. Upon the -hills the shadows were sharply defined by broken lines of light, and -the sea under Salamis was a waveless blue gloom.</p> - -<p>Gustav had done brave battle with woe, and wore his sorrow nobly. -There was nothing of the crushed air of the love-sick swain about -him. He stood up straight, and faced the light of day with mournful -calm eyes and strong lips, patiently awaiting the revocation of his -sentence or its confirmation, and for the moment gave himself entirely -up to the study of archæology. He had come that morning to Athens upon -invitation, to attend the meeting of the German School of Archæology.</p> - -<p>While Gustav is sky-gazing with an open volume of Pausanias in his -hand, another young friend of ours is crossing Constitution Square -with the intention of strolling towards the Acropolis. Ten days back -in Athens, and not one glimpse of Andromache! Very unlike a lover -restored to the arms of his mistress does he look, sauntering along -with his hands in his pockets and an expression of miserable perplexity -on his face. An airy, wide-awake individual, with an anemone in his -button-hole, and a glass in his eye, accosts him noisily, and quickly -scanning him, remarks aloud upon the utter dejection of his air.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Tonton, je suis épris—cette fois pour de bon,” cried Rudolph, -desirous of horrifying somebody else as well as himself.</p> - -<p>“Encore? Est-ce possible? Vrai?” ejaculated Agiropoulos.</p> - -<p>“C’est très vrai.”</p> - -<p>“Allons donc, mon cher! Faut-il te féliciter? Epris<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> pour la troisième -fois dans autant de mois! Mais c’est effrayant!”</p> - -<p>Rudolph’s eyes swept the landscape in dreary assent. He thought it very -frightful indeed.</p> - -<p>“Pauvre Photini! Pauvre Andromaque,” cried Agiropoulos, taking off his -hat and running his plump hand over his well-shorn head, “et pauvre—la -dernière. Elle sera toujours à plaindre, celle-là.”</p> - -<p>“Dis plutôt, pauvre Rudolph!” said Ehrenstein, ruefully.</p> - -<p>“Eh, je le dis, mon cher, de bon cœur,” said Agiropoulos, with a -reassuring nod and an enigmatic smile, as he turned on his heel, and -stopped to discuss Ehrenstein’s lamentable susceptibility with his next -acquaintance.</p> - -<p>Can this really be our fastidious Rudolph, who has held the above -indelicate dialogue with a man he hitherto professed to despise? Has -he grown in a few months both cynical and hardened? But the cynicism -was only surface deep. This search for an anchor to his affections -and the discovery he had made that his emotions and his judgment were -unreliable, his heart as unstable as water, wrecked all self-esteem, -and left him in a battered condition of mind. He felt as if he had been -morally whipped by scorpions, and every nerve within him was bruised.</p> - -<p>First Photini, then Andromache, dear, sweet Andromache! how his heart -bled for her! that he should be so unworthy of her! And She? the other -She! the final, unattainable She, whose looks ran fire through his -veins and held him in humble unexacting servitude?</p> - -<p>He came out to walk and meditate. Could he have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> chosen a more -favourable road for meditation than the wide avenue of pepper-trees, -that leads by a gentle upward slope to the cactus-bordered hill, upon -which the glorious Parthenon rests? Of the nature of his reflections, -as he strolled along that famous route, I cannot say much. I imagine -they were hazy, like the inarticulate speech of an infant. He wanted -something, but for the life of him he could not have put that something -into shape or definite speech. Like Hercules, his way was barred by -two female forms—only one of whom, however, offered him a direct -invitation. And Photini?</p> - -<p>And thus these two met, and falling into accidental conversation, which -resulted in an exchange of cards, Rudolph learnt that this was Herr -Reineke, the distinguished Greek scholar, whose card his aunt had found -awaiting her on her return from a drive that morning. Anything was -better to Rudolph than that meditation in pursuit of which he had come -out expressly, so he warmly pressed Reineke to come back to the Embassy -with him. Reineke took a fancy to the frank and high-bred lad, and -gladly consented to do so.</p> - -<p>On their way he learnt some very original and curious views upon the -Ancient Greeks, and his national vanity was flattered by hearing this -discontented youth describe the Modern Greeks as worse than the Jews, -and express his entire sympathy with the Turks—a thorough gentlemanly -race in his opinion. Gustav assented, but claimed an exception for one -or two of the modern Greeks, and at this point they reached the Embassy.</p> - -<p>The young man found everybody out, so Rudolph<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> carried off Reineke -to a little salon only used in private life. Here the baroness wrote -her letters, and here Inarime had sat that morning with a book and a -pencil in her hand. Rudolph ordered coffee and cigars, and selected for -himself Inarime’s seat. He took up her book, and remembered enough of -his Greek to know that it was a volume of the Sicilian Idyllists. He -recognised the names Theocritus, Bion and Moschus, but the rest was a -blank to him. In turning over the leaves, a sheet of paper dropped out, -and this contained writing. He examined it carefully, and was struck -with its exquisite caligraphy.</p> - -<p>“Can you read Greek—modern?” he asked of Gustav, who was looking idly -out of the window.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he answered, turning his face round.</p> - -<p>“Please translate that for me,” cried Rudolph excitedly. Gustav -extended his hand for the paper, glanced at it carelessly, and read -half-finished verses in classical Greek, which baldly translated read -something like this:—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“O let me not in this grief fail.</div> -<div class="i1">Dear Gods, upon me glance!</div> -<div>For hearts with troubles slowly veil</div> -<div class="i1">Hope in remembrance.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div>“I would not that thy life were sad</div> -<div class="i1">Because of our drear fate,</div> -<div>Nor would I have thee wholly glad</div> -<div class="i1">While I am forced to wait.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The lines ended here, and Gustav read them over again, a dim -presentiment quickening his pulses. Selaka had shown him Inarime’s -writing, beautiful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> finished, like those delicate manuscripts which we -have inherited from the old days of cloistered leisure. Surely this was -the work of the same hand, and the quiet sadness of the verses swept -him like a message from the dead.</p> - -<p>“Do you know who wrote this?” he asked slowly.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Rudolph answered, indisposed to be communicative.</p> - -<p>“A lady?”</p> - -<p>“You think the handwriting a lady’s?”</p> - -<p>“I do. I fancy I have seen it before.”</p> - -<p>“Let me see. Were you not staying for a short time on one of the Greek -islands?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; Tenos.”</p> - -<p>“Then you perhaps met her. Oh, I am sure of it now,” cried Rudolph, -springing up and glaring into Reineke’s face.</p> - -<p>Reineke said nothing, but bent his eyes reverently upon the sheet of -paper. Might he steal it? If he had been alone he would have kissed it.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you answer me, Herr Reineke?” Rudolph persisted.</p> - -<p>“Answer you? What?”</p> - -<p>“There is somebody else, I know. I learnt it the other night. Tell me. -Is it you?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“Herr Ehrenstein, is it too much to beg an explanation of these -somewhat enigmatic questions?” retorted Gustav.</p> - -<p>But Ehrenstein eagerly noted that his eyes never once left the piece of -paper in his hand.</p> - -<p>“It is unworthy to trifle with me in this way. I see that you know her, -and that you understand too well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> the meaning of those lines. They are -perhaps addressed to you.”</p> - -<p>“And if it were so?” said Gustav, coldly.</p> - -<p>“It would be better to know it at once. Anything would be better than -this suspense. Listen, I will tell you something I overheard one night -in a conversation between my uncle and her father.”</p> - -<p>“Her father? Is Selaka here?” cried Gustav.</p> - -<p>“He is. And so is she.”</p> - -<p>“She! here? In this house? Now?” exclaimed Gustav, jumping up.</p> - -<p>“She is out now with my aunt. They will be back soon.”</p> - -<p>“Good God!” muttered Reineke, sitting down, and holding his head in his -hands. “Should I go—or shall I stay?”</p> - -<p>“Then you are the man. Listen to what I heard last night. My uncle told -Selaka that he would be glad to see his daughter my wife—oh, don’t -fly into a rage, we are not engaged, and I see by your angry smile you -don’t think it likely to come to pass. Well, Selaka said he liked me, -and in his estimation, my birth and social position were a set-off -against my deficiencies in classical lore. But there is an impediment. -His daughter has recently made the heaviest sacrifice a woman can make -for her father, and he could not pain her by asking her to choose a -successor to the lover she gave up for him. You are the lover, I know. -Why did she give you up?”</p> - -<p>“Because I am a Turk.”</p> - -<p>“A Turk! You!”</p> - -<p>Rudolph burst into a harsh laugh, and stopped <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>suddenly when his ear -caught the sound of a carriage drawn up outside. He glanced quickly out -of the window.</p> - -<p>“She has come, Monsieur le Sultan,” he announced, sarcastically.</p> - -<p>Both men stood still, and rapid steps approached. Through the half-open -door the flutter of silken raiment was heard brushing the floor, and -the baroness stood before them, looking courteous interrogation.</p> - -<p>“This is Herr Reineke,” said Rudolph, in German.</p> - -<p>“Oh, M. Reineke,” the baroness exclaimed, in French. “This is indeed -a pleasure. You will stay and dine with us in a friendly way. No -ceremony. The baron will keep you company in morning attire. It will be -delightful, as the unexpected always is.”</p> - -<p>Gustav declined politely, and glanced beyond her. There stood Inarime -with a look of unmistakable rapture and alarm upon her face.</p> - -<p>The baroness introduced them; they bowed, but did not dare trust -themselves to speech or hand-clasp.</p> - -<p>“Must you go at once, Herr Reineke?” asked the baroness, remarking the -glory on his face.</p> - -<p>“Madame, I must,” he said, and Rudolph saw that Inarime started -violently, as if the sound of his voice thrilled her like pain.</p> - -<p>Reineke shook hands with the baroness, not conscious that he was making -all sorts of impossible promises, and then turned silently to the -mute, harrowing eloquence of Inarime’s gaze, with one as unbearable in -its piercing tenderness. Rudolph accompanied him downstairs and said -nothing until Reineke held out his hand at the door. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, I cannot touch your hand, Herr Reineke. We must not meet again,” -he said, grimly.</p> - -<p>“As you wish, Herr Ehrenstein. I am sorry for you, but, as you see, I -have not much cause for self-congratulation for myself.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph said nothing, and flung away from him.</p> - -<p>In the little salon he found Inarime alone, with her head bent down -upon the table over her folded arms.</p> - -<p>“You love that man, Fraulein?” he asked in German, which she spoke more -fluently than French.</p> - -<p>“I do,” she said, simply, hardly troubled by the impertinence of the -question.</p> - -<p>“And there is no chance—none—for me?”</p> - -<p>“I do not understand you, Herr Ehrenstein.”</p> - -<p>Did she even hear him, as she stared out with that intense look -strained beyond her prison through the bright streets traversed by -Gustav?</p> - -<p>“I, too, love you, Fraulein. I would die for you. You have taken from -me my rest, my happiness, my self-respect. Everything I yield to -you—honour, manhood, independence. Gladly will I accept slavery at -your bidding. I care for nothing but you. Is there no hope for me? Your -father will approve my suit.—<i>He</i> is banished.”</p> - -<p>Inarime gazed scorn and loathing upon him. There were hardly words -strong enough with which to reject such an offer, so made and at such a -time.</p> - -<p>“Leave me, Herr Ehrenstein. You force me abruptly to terminate my stay -under your uncle’s roof.”</p> - -<p>She turned her back upon him, and when he broke out into fierce and -incoherent apologies, she swept past him out of the room.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIV.</span> <span class="smaller">A DRAUGHT FROM CIRCE’S CUP.</span></h2> - -<p>There was no hope for it. Harmony fled the Austrian Embassy. It had -already been bruited that young Ehrenstein was inconveniently demanded -by a bloodthirsty warrior, whose sister he had jilted in a scandalous -way. The report reached Selaka’s ear, and he looked askance upon the -perfidious youth. At first the baron dismissed the affair with a laugh, -then, upon scandal mounting higher, and taking a shriller tone, he -questioned Rudolph, and being a gentleman, expressed himself in very -strong terms upon the young reprobate’s conduct.</p> - -<p>Rudolph had sulked and fretted and made everybody around him only a -degree less uncomfortable than himself. Twice he had started to go to -Andromache and confess the full extent of his iniquity, but he had not -had the courage to face the ordeal. If she should cry, or reproach -him, or meet him with sad silence! it would be equally unbearable, and -there would be nothing left for him but to go away and cut his throat. -What was the good of anything? Life was a blunder, a fret, a torment. -Without any evil in him, kindly, pure, sweet natured, here was he -involved in a mesh of inextricable troubles, behaving to a dear and -innocent child like an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> arrant villain. And all the while his heart -bled for her, and in any moment left him by the haunting thought of -Inarime, he was pursued by the soft pain of Andromache’s pretty eyes.</p> - -<p>But every one blamed him, and all Athens spoke of him as a heartless -scoundrel. The baroness, who was coldly condemnatory, suggested a -return to Austria. The baron, sarcastic, plagued him in the “I warned -you” tone.</p> - -<p>“You are much too sentimental and susceptible, Rudolph, for a life of -idleness. You have yet to learn the art of trifling gracefully and -uncompromisingly. Remember, a man has not to choose between being -a victim or a brute. You have proved yourself both to that little -Athenian—first the victim and then the brute. Now, my advice to -you is, go back to Rapoldenkirchen. Meditate instructively upon the -excellent advantages you have had here, and resolve to continue your -education in matters feminine with the married ladies. Avoid girls -as you would avoid poison, until you are ready to fix yourself in -reasonable harness with one particular girl, whom I advise you to -choose as little as possible like yourself. Vienna or Paris will be -of infinite service to you just now, and if you like, I could use -my influence to obtain you a diplomatic post. As long as you remain -in this state of lamentable idleness, so long will your life be -precarious.”</p> - -<p>But this excellent counsel had fallen on dull ears. An hour after -Inarime’s rejection, Rudolph started to go to Andromache, and instead -of cutting through Academy Street, as he should have done, he turned up -towards the barrack, and before even he was aware of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> propelling -instinct that pushed him, he was knocking at Photini’s door.</p> - -<p>“Is Mademoiselle Natzelhuber visible?” he asked of Polyxena, with an -indifference of look and tone not at all assumed.</p> - -<p>“She is upstairs, if that is what you mean,” cried Polyxena, and left -him to shut the door behind him.</p> - -<p>He walked up the steep stone stairs without a sign of hurry or purpose, -and rapped listlessly at Photini’s door. In response to a loud “Come -in,” he entered, and found Photini in the midst of her cats and dogs, -reading the “Palingenesia.” She threw away the shabby little newspaper, -and made room for him on the sofa beside her, eyeing him with a look of -sharp scrutiny.</p> - -<p>“Well?” she said.</p> - -<p>“I am most abjectly miserable, Photini,” he said, and sat down beside -her, staring at the floor.</p> - -<p>“You look it, my friend.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so. Photini, I want you to let me stay with you.”</p> - -<p>“Stay with me! What the deuce do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Just what I say. There are no words to describe my wretchedness. I am -sick of everything and everybody. You, at least, won’t criticise or -blame. Your own life has not been so successful that you need censure -very harshly the blunders of mine.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her drearily, unnotingly, and yet he felt drawn to her by -an immense personal sympathy and a kind of remembered affection that -nothing could ever quite obliterate.</p> - -<p>“Oh, for that, I am not disposed to censure any one but the smug -hypocrites, who talk religion and virtue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> until one longs to fling -something in their faces. For the idiots I have a tremendous weakness, -I confess.”</p> - -<p>“You care a little for me, don’t you, Photini?” Rudolph cried, like a -forsaken child.</p> - -<p>Photini moved towards him, and gathered him into her arms.</p> - -<p>“I love you furiously, you wretched boy,” she exclaimed, and held him -to her. “But just because you are an idiot, you are not to pay any heed -to it.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph for answer flung his arms round her, laid his head upon her -bosom, and burst into wild hysteric sobs.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you baby!” shouted Photini, trying to shake him off, but he only -clung to her the more convulsively, and tightened his clasp of her -until she could hardly breathe.</p> - -<p>“Finish! this is absurd. What has happened to you, child?”</p> - -<p>“Everybody is against me,” he said, striving hard to choke back his -tears. “I hate myself. I have made a mess of everything, and I wish I -were dead.”</p> - -<p>“That is why you have come to me, I suppose. If you are destined to be -damned in the next world, you are willing to begin the operation in -this,” said Photini, drily.</p> - -<p>“I want to stay with you. If you repulse me, Photini, I swear I’ll go -straightway and blow my brains out.”</p> - -<p>“It would not be much worse.”</p> - -<p>“Than staying with you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, than staying with me. The one would be followed by an inquest -and a funeral—and behold a swift<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> and respectable end. The other—my -friend, have you measured its consequences?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; we should have a great deal of music all to ourselves. We might -go away to France or Algiers, and I should forget Athens.”</p> - -<p>“No, you would not. There is no such thing as forgetfulness until you -take to drink, and then you only forget when you are drunk. The instant -you become sober, memory probes your empty heart more strongly than -ever.”</p> - -<p>“Then we will drink together, Photini,” cried Rudolph, recklessly. -“Give me some brandy.”</p> - -<p>“I will not. I insist on your going back to that silly chit you’ve -treated so badly. Dry her eyes—they are very pretty eyes, my friend -Rudolph, and a man might be less agreeably employed. She’ll soon -forgive you if you manage to look penitent enough. I boxed her ears -once, and I like her all the better for it. Tell her an old woman who -loves you sent you back to her.”</p> - -<p>“Photini, you are not old,” protested Rudolph, disinclined to speak of -Andromache to her. “Come back to the point. Will you have me? You say -you love me.”</p> - -<p>“Rudolph, you are an ass. Don’t you see that I am trying to save you? -What does it matter for myself? You, Agiropoulos, another,—it is all -the same. My life is blotted, ruined, disfigured past redemption. -One <i>liaison</i> more or less cannot practically affect me. But with -you it is different. You are a delicately-trained boy, of fastidious -tastes. You are unfit to battle with the coarser elements of life. A -robuster <i>morale</i> and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> less dainty nature than yours can buffet and -wrestle with brutal conditions, and be none the worse for a hundred -false steps, but you will sink irretrievably upon the first. Vice -sits indifferently well on some of us, and on others most deplorably. -That is why women sink so much more rapidly than men. Despair and -self-contempt are stones that hang fatally round their necks, and -this,” she said, pointing to a flask of brandy, “helps them to carry -the weight until they are crushed by it.”</p> - -<p>“It will help me, too, I’ve no doubt,” said Rudolph.</p> - -<p>“It is from that I would save you, and from the rest. It is not my -habit to express my opinions. I despise people too much to talk -seriously to them, but I am not only a musical machine in the lucid -pauses of a toper. I have thought a little, too, and I know what I have -lost.”</p> - -<p>She was walking up and down the room with her hands joined behind her, -and there was a glow upon her strange face that made it almost noble. -When she had finished, she stood in front of Rudolph, scanned him -closely, and asked:</p> - -<p>“Are you going? I have had quite enough of this sort of thing.”</p> - -<p>“I am not going, Photini. My mind is made up. I will stay with you. Be -kind to me. Say you want me.”</p> - -<p>“I must not, for then I could not bring myself to give you up. Go away, -and think over it. Mind, I would far rather you did not come back, and -I think I should be able to kiss with gratitude a note from you telling -me you had gone back to that girl.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You will get no such note from me, for I am going to stay now,” -Rudolph exclaimed, impetuously.</p> - -<p>“You are a fool. There, I would have saved you—now, it is as heaven -wills it. But please remember this. When you come to repent this step, -as you will surely in a week, a month, or a year, have the goodness not -to bluster and expend your rage on me, or lay your folly to my account.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph laughed bitterly.</p> - -<p>“I think, mademoiselle, you would very soon make short work of me and -my bluster and rage,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Well, yes, I believe I should be able for that emergency.”</p> - -<p>“Photini, will you play me the ‘Barcarolle’?” Rudolph asked, as he -rubbed his cheek caressingly against her arm.</p> - -<p>She stooped over him, kissed his hair and forehead, and their lips met -in a burning kiss—Rudolph’s first.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXV.</span> <span class="smaller">AGAMEMNON AND IPHIGENIA.</span></h2> - -<p>We can imagine how the fabric, sedulously raised by Constantine’s -pursuit of his family’s fortune and advancement, tottered, shook, and -fell utterly to pieces upon that one exchanged look between Inarime -and Gustav. He in the world, and she the wife of another man! She -loathed herself that such should have been deemed possible of her. She -acknowledged her father’s right to her obedience, and it was difficult -for her to imagine her will in disjunction from his. But surely there -are limits to a daughter’s obligations—most wise limits set by nature, -whose laws are still more imperative than man’s. We may defy the laws -of man, and sometimes their defiance is proof of nobler instinct. But -the laws of nature—these are inexorable, and her punishments are -fatally swift. Body and mind were set in revolution against this cold -commercial alliance. Her soul in arms told her that it would be a -bodily degradation under which her mind would inevitably sink.</p> - -<p>She had been trained to reason and to think, to hold her words in -subjection to her reason, and restrain the impulsiveness of her sex. -Expediency, she had been taught, may be a qualified virtue, though -founded on the meanest basis, and she had been recommended to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> weigh -its component parts in particular cases, before pronouncing judgment. -Hitherto she had been wise to detect the logical issues of any -situation presented to her for the reading, and thus had gained, in the -mind of the villagers, the reputation of a wise young counsellor, whose -head was filled with all the natural precepts of sagacity. But that -swift, immediate contact with flame and fire, the frantic surrender to -an untried glance, threw her back upon herself, with shaken faith, in -the grasp of wavering moods of stupefaction and self-contempt lit by -the lamp of burning bliss.</p> - -<p>She saw her folly but did not repudiate it—the goddesses of old had -yielded to the sovereign passion upon as little pressure. One of the -features of Immortality is its royal dispensation with the tedious -form of wooing invented by the weak mortals. Nineteen years of a -purity as glacial as Artemis’ before she had given that one kiss to -the sleeping boy, were as an unremembered dream, blotted from her mind -without regret or shame, upon meeting of eyes that held her own in -glad subjection. The thrill of captured maidenhood was still upon her, -and O, faithlessness most grievous to the noble captor! she had half -pledged herself to take a husband.</p> - -<p>“I cannot!” she cried aloud, stung keenly by the horror and the -gracelessness of such submission.</p> - -<p>And then, to accentuate her anguish, the figure of Oïdas for the first -time rose sharp and distinct upon her vision, to fix her in the travail -of repugnance. Until now he had passed before her, a scarce-recognised -nonentity, wafted past her upon sugary strains of Verdi and Bellini, -through the odours of many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> flowers. Now he stood out in cruel relief -against the background of a holy memory. She saw his high shoulders, -with a slight outward droop curving suddenly inward, and making a -grotesque narrowness of chest, like a bird of prey curved in upon its -wings, and she caught herself smiling at the picture. She detected the -material contentions of the oily simper and too affable expression in -the small black eyes, noted ruthlessly the uncertainty of the spindle -shanks that did lean duty for legs, and the ungraceful flow of the long -loose frock coat.</p> - -<p>It was borne in then upon her that she unconquerably disliked Oïdas, -and that pressure would change that dislike to positive and passionate -aversion. Does not youth demand youth for its mate? strength and -beauty their like? Was she to stand tamely by, and let her youth and -strength and beauty be given away to mean and dwindling age such as -his? He had not even the godlike attribute of power upon which she -could let herself be whirled into possession, shutting her eyes in the -make-believe of fatality. Theseus may carry off an unloving Helen, -but at least he is a hero. Helen may repine and revolt, but she feels -that the arms that imprison her are strong and conquering arms. She -may hate, but she will not despise,—and contempt is the one thing -women will not endure. Let the ravisher but possess superb qualities, -and pardon may eventually be his. Pride, sitting apart, is nourished -on their contemplation though the heart be starving, and it is a fine -thing to be able to sustain alien pride in a woman. But a man like -Oïdas, the epitome of male commonplace, held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> out no future hope of an -honourable compromise between pride and the heart’s exactions. Tied -to him, she would pass through life a mean and pitiable figure, read -in the light of her ignoble choice. It is not given to many women to -wed romance, and the curious want of fastidiousness with which the -sex may be charged, its readiness to take shabby and uninteresting -mates, is one of the best proofs that any man can get a wife. But if -a woman once let her glance dwell upon a live figure of a romance, it -is astonishing how complete will be her discovery of the general ill -looks and unattractiveness of men. Until Inarime had seen Gustav, she -had not remarked whether nature favoured men physically or not. But now -it was the appearance of Oïdas that told most emphatically against him. -Nature had shown her what she could do for a man when she chose to be -in a poetic mood, and she was not disposed to accept the exchange of a -monkey shivering in a frock-coat.</p> - -<p>The warm blood running fire through her now petulant veins taught her -how mad was her former belief that she could meet the sacrifice her -father proposed with resigned endurance. The revolt of her body was -as fierce as that of her soul. Marriage was not like a commercial -partnership in which each party lives on certain ground a life apart. -It was the complete enslavement of an existence, the surrendering of -private thought, of the sanctuaries of mind and person. No escape. -Concealment would be subterfuge, the man’s dishonour the wife’s. Habit -would be tyranny, the faintest demonstration of an unshared affection -an oppression. She rose up at this thought with cheeks dyed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> scarlet, -so acute was her apprehension of its meaning, and then dropped among -her pillows, and hurried to hide from the shame of it under the -protecting sheets.</p> - -<p>No, she could not! Less cruel far was the old sacrifice at Aulis. -Iphigenia might well bow to her father’s awful decision while her -soul was unscourged by the scorpion whips of such degradation. The -fire in her brain and the burn of hot dry eyelids kept her awake all -night, pursued by terrible images of an unholy future, and her first -thought, when the dawn touched light upon the window-panes, was to -seek her father and intercept him before he left the Embassy. She knew -he purposed going out early, intending to add to his notes at the -University library, for the German meeting.</p> - -<p>“Father,” she cried, in a voice of resolution he was quick to feel -there was no shaking, “I must leave this house at once. You will go and -make my excuses to the baron, while I will knock at the baroness’ door.”</p> - -<p>“What has happened, child? You look disturbed and ill,” Selaka -exclaimed, in wonderment.</p> - -<p>“I will tell you when we are gone,” she said, growing whiter at the -prospect of giving voice to the night’s sufferings. “Go now, dear -father, and wait for me in the courtyard.”</p> - -<p>“I did believe my daughter was not capricious.”</p> - -<p>“Papa,” she pleaded, childishly, “love me a little, be kind to me. Do -what I ask.”</p> - -<p>Selaka mused half-angrily, as he went in search of the baron, so -thoroughly mystified that he almost apprehended being unfitted for -learned society that morning:</p> - -<p>“Ah, why are these explosive engines, known as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> daughters, born to -poor harassed man? We idly propagate them as candles to attract the -moths around us; to dismay us with their flutter and impertinent -importunities;—magnets to attract violent impulses, and run them -cantering in rivalry.”</p> - -<p>Wrapped up in his own vexed thoughts, he had long been perceived by -Reineke at the German school before he recognised the fatal Turk. He -bowed coldly, flushed perceptibly under the eyes. The fellow was a -man to be proud of, he felt, a man in a million, an ideal son-in-law, -and hotly rebuked himself for thinking it. He moved as far away from -Reineke as possible, and fell into eager conversation with a Russian -professor.</p> - -<p>The Russian informed him that the French school had curtly declined to -attend, with the added discourtesy of offering no excuse whatsoever.</p> - -<p>“Ye gods! Is not the ground of archæology even to be neutral?” -thundered Selaka. “Must politics here be thrust upon us, and have us by -the ears in a fret of jarring and wrangling? It is not a question of -marriage. If civility did not suggest it, policy ought to teach them to -take what Germany, with her science and perseverance has to offer them, -and be thankful for the gift. Let them sulk, and it will do nobody any -harm but themselves.”</p> - -<p>“The French minister’s nephew, a very charming young fellow, has sent -an unofficial letter of apology on his own behalf. He was invited -because of a couple of interesting and graceful articles he wrote for -the <i>Revue des deux Mondes</i>. It is known that he received orders to -stay away.”</p> - -<p>It was an imposing assembly. The nations of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> civilised world were -represented by their Embassies and schools, all except sulking France. -The blooming half of humanity was present in a dozen or so of choice -souls, to deck the scene with their flowery robes and bright hues. The -loud murmur of mingled tongues was stopped by Herr Julius Dünckler -stepping forward to open the proceedings formally by a neat little -speech announcing that the paper of the day would be read by his very -youthful but learned colleague, Herr Gustav Reineke. The theme was the -everlasting Theatre, a theme happily not exhausted, and matter still -for research. Herr Reineke had visited every spot of ground that could -be of use to him in the patient analysis of his subject, and his views -were so forcibly put forward, his erudition was so minute and vast at -the same time, that it seemed to him, the director of the German School -of Archæology, that it would be a pleasure and a gain for other workers -like himself in that wide field, to assemble and amicably discuss Herr -Reineke’s paper. The paper, he stated, was translated into English and -French for those present who could not understand German.</p> - -<p>Upon invitation, Gustav took his place upon the platform and the -ladies at least were unanimous in their admiration of his handsome and -distinguished presence.</p> - -<p>“He looks a scholar and a gentleman to boot,” murmured Mrs. -Mowbray-Thomas.</p> - -<p>His voice was grave and musically measured, with an Oriental soft -sonorousness which captivated his hearers. His face was impassive in -its noble earnestness, its strength toned by delicate beauty, lit with -the fine glow of intellect. When he came to the end of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> reading, he -bowed in acknowledgment of the applause that greeted it, and, stepping -backward, his eyes sought Selaka through the crowd. He was quick to -detect the flame of affectionate pride that involuntarily leaped into -the old man’s answering look, and a chill from excessive hope ran -through his members in a visible shudder.</p> - -<p>He beat his way through congratulating strangers till he stood beside -Selaka’s chair.</p> - -<p>“Your hand?” he said, under his breath, extending his own tentatively, -and, seeing it grasped, added, with an ingratiating smile: “It is not -withheld.”</p> - -<p>“And wherefore? I am proud of you, proud for you, honoured by the -distinction,” Selaka answered, huskily, while he followed the crowd -towards the door.</p> - -<p>“Ah, sir, it is a barren pride for you and me,” said Gustav, keeping -close to his side.</p> - -<p>Gustav understood that he was dismissed, but with pardonable -pertinacity resolved to force Selaka to speak to him of Inarime, and -walked beside him.</p> - -<p>“She is well?” he almost entreated.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” Selaka admitted slowly, not trusting himself to recognise -the hungry question in the other’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“Her beauty has made some stir here,” he added in a naïve exposure of -paternal vanity. “You have heard?”</p> - -<p>“No, I arrived yesterday. The town’s gossip has not reached me.”</p> - -<p>A thrill of insufferable horror shot through him at the hideous picture -of Inarime’s beauty the theme of men’s discourse and the object of -their ugly scrutiny. The Turk was thus far strong within him, that if -possible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> he would have had her shielded from alien homage, guarded the -bloom and perfume of her beauty for his own exclusive possession.</p> - -<p>After a pause, filled in with conjecture and flashes of memory, he -turned again to Selaka.</p> - -<p>“Am I still an outcast, sir?”</p> - -<p>“Outcast! You know that I esteem you—truly, cordially.”</p> - -<p>“For yourself. But for her—in that sense I mean it.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot alter the sentence pronounced.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” Gustav interjected, drawing in his breath sharply. “It is so hard -on me. I hope, I believe, it is hard on her, too.”</p> - -<p>“She is sensible. She will resign herself to marry the man I have -chosen for her.”</p> - -<p>“Young Ehrenstein!” Gustav almost shouted, with a start.</p> - -<p>“Can you ask? He is a fool and a villain. A fellow who does not know -his own mind, is betrothed to one woman, loves another, and levants -with a third.”</p> - -<p>“Such a choice would indeed be tragic for her,” Gustav said, -sardonically. “Has she consented?”</p> - -<p>“Partly.”</p> - -<p>“It is incredible to me, sir. You shock me. You unnerve me. I desire -to remain cool, but the picture you force upon me is unbearable, vile, -discordant. Inarime wedded—and not to me! Impossible! I will not -accept it.”</p> - -<p>“Hush! You have no choice. I do not offer an alternative,” interposed -Selaka, judicially.</p> - -<p>“But, sir, you have a tender love for her. Think of the cruelty, the -shame and agony for her! She is all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> delicacy and sensitiveness. To -have given herself to me, and now to be asked to accept another! It is -the most abominable desecration of maidenhood! She cannot, she will -not! Be reasonable. Think of her, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Of whom else do you suppose I think, Herr ——” but Selaka could not -bring himself to pronounce the false name, and his tongue shrank with -violent repugnance from the other.</p> - -<p>“Drop the name,” Gustav implored, seeing his hesitation.</p> - -<p>“I do not doubt your tender regard for her, but I do most emphatically -deny that it is possible for you to see the position with the eyes -of youth. Oh, I understand. You deem me jealous. If that were all. -Nay, then it would be worse, for I should doubt her. And I do not. I -could answer for her with my life. You are driving her to an ignoble -compliance. You wish her to be safe from me.”</p> - -<p>“You have guessed rightly. I shall not feel secure until she has passed -into other hands—hands that will bind her and you with stronger -fetters than mine.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, how wrong you are! How you misjudge me! Have I tried to write to -her, to see her? Yesterday we met,—we did not even touch hands, we -said no word.”</p> - -<p>It was Selaka’s turn to start.</p> - -<p>“She did not tell me,” he muttered. “To-day she met me with a troubled -aspect, and prayed to be taken away.”</p> - -<p>“Poor child! Why will you make it harder for her? Have you the heart -to grieve her so? Why, oh, why put this heavy burden on the young -shoulders you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> should cherish? I will not harass you. I will not thwart -your plans.”</p> - -<p>“You are talking complete nonsense,” Selaka responded, testily. “A -father must marry his daughter, if only to feel she will be protected -after his death.”</p> - -<p>“Protected! Inarime unprotected! You madden me. But for myself I do not -complain;—nay, I do most bitterly. Kyrie Selaka, is this your last -word?”</p> - -<p>“It is.”</p> - -<p>“Will nothing—nothing I can say shake you?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“You are a second Agamemnon,” Gustav cried, and turned away with weary, -angry eyes and white lips.</p> - -<p>Pericles opened his mouth to call him back, shut it, drove down the -unsaid words with a heavy sigh, and walked slowly towards his brother’s -house.</p> - -<p>Constantine greeted him in the hall with an emphatic look, pointed to -the inner room and shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“She is in there, pacing for all the world like a ravenous tiger. Women -are cats. They spring and tread delicately, with glittering, rageful -eyes, and make you listen, in spite of yourself, for the ominous hiss -and spit, or the soft caressing purr. I would not marry that young -woman for her weight in gold. That reminds me. Oïdas is bothering me -about the engagement. He complains that it is indefinite, that Inarime -has stayed too long at that confounded Embassy, and that you keep him -on tenter-hooks. It is all over Athens about young Ehrenstein. The -senseless whelp! Oïdas is frantic, insists he has been injuriously -trifled with; in short, nothing but an immediate marriage will satisfy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> -him. He is the snarling dog that shows his teeth upon provocation, and -is perhaps more dangerous, if not more discomposing, than the spitting -cat.”</p> - -<p>“It is all right, Constantine. Oïdas is correct in his statement that -he has been somewhat unfairly dealt with, in so far as his answer has -been unduly delayed. This accident of Ehrenstein’s—the Fates confound -him and the Furies overtake him!—teaches me that the conclusion of the -bargain must be speedily arrived at. I cannot have my daughter’s name -dubiously upon the lips of chattering fools. Oïdas will be apprised -this afternoon of my decision.”</p> - -<p>He swung into the other room, and a face of piercing eagerness and -demand met his!</p> - -<p>“Inarime, you must be ready to marry Kyrios Oïdas at once,” he began, -without any thoughtful preliminaries.</p> - -<p>“It is of that I wished to speak to you, father,” she said, in a dreary -quiescence that filled him with hope.</p> - -<p>“Come, this promises well. My dear girl is reasonable.”</p> - -<p>“He sent me those,” she said, pointing to a small stack of roses, -jonquils and heliotrope, that lay a neglected litter, upon the table, -and appealed to her senses in revolt with a nauseating sweetness. -“And this letter. He is giving a fancy ball, and wishes me to attend -publicly as his bride.”</p> - -<p>“The wish does him honour, and is but natural and manly. You must get -over this fancied repugnance, my girl. You will have to marry him. It -is my resolution.”</p> - -<p>He spoke with a harshness quite foreign to him, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> its adoption -nerved him to show her a front of adamant.</p> - -<p>“Father, I will not,” she cried—screamed nearly.</p> - -<p>“Will not?” he asked, his brows shooting into a significant arch, and -his eyes, for the first time in the interview, holding hers in question.</p> - -<p>“Cannot,” she breathed, in a lower tone, with an air of weakness that -touched him horribly.</p> - -<p>“You see your position. It is for you to obey.”</p> - -<p>She caught her breath in a sound held between a sob and a hiss, -rebellion gathering ominously about the dark brows.</p> - -<p>“You are within your rights, I know. But, oh! father, how can you stand -out for paternal authority in the face of my most utter misery?”</p> - -<p>“But, Inarime, this is what I cannot understand,” he protested, -returning to their old footing of equality. “Why should the thought of -this marriage—a wholly respectable alliance—irritate you and make you -miserable?”</p> - -<p>“It is not <i>he</i>!” she whispered, breathlessly.</p> - -<p>“Fudge!”</p> - -<p>“Father, will you at least try to face the situation with a woman’s -mind and instinct. Believe me, it is no contemptible mind or instinct -that makes us shrink from an abhorrent marriage. We may not have -heads clear as yours, but our instincts are as finely responsive to -the promptings of nature as a watch is delicately accurate in its -measurements of time. Your brains may err and falsely interpret. Our -hearts cannot, unless art interferes. I speak now of uneducated woman -pitted against educated man. In these things he will have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> much to -learn from her. We are limited in our nature, father, and that which -you ask of me is impossible.”</p> - -<p>“I will not hear it. Nothing is impossible when it simply depends on -the good-will and common-sense of the person. It is my punishment -for having brought you up as a boy. All my love and thought and care -were for you, and this is my reward. You seek to disturb and thwart -me on the very first occasion that brings our wills into collision. -A growing child is like a peach, soft and bloomy to the touch, sweet -to the taste, until you come to the heart, where you find bitterness -and hardness. What can it matter whom you marry, when you cannot marry -<i>him</i>?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is easy enough for you to speak as a spectator. You will not -be marrying the man, and it makes all the difference. The servitude, -the loathing, the degradation will be mine to bear, and only a girl can -feel that.”</p> - -<p>“A girl! a woman! Will you not taunt me with your boast of nicer -feeling. This Oïdas, on your own admission, was not specially -distasteful to you.”</p> - -<p>“That was when you had not proposed him for a husband.”</p> - -<p>“Ouf! One notes the unreasonable sex in that retort. What has my -simple proposal to do with the man. If he were a detestable fellow you -would have hated him from the beginning. Nothing but the unconquerable -passion for worrying and grieving and turning everybody topsy-turvy, -that is born in every woman, would make my desire to marry you to him -paint him to you in blacker colours.”</p> - -<p>“It would be the same with any man you might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> think fit to propose. -If it is the fault of my sex, I cannot in reason be held responsible -for it. It is not my fault that I am not born an exception. And I will -admit, father, in this case I would infinitely prefer to follow the -general rule,” she added, bitterly.</p> - -<p>“There, there, my girl, don’t fret me with unkind speech. I have -yielded to temper, I know, and am sorry for it. You have ever been a -solace and a joy to me, and if I have set my heart on this matter, it -is entirely for your good. You must marry some one.”</p> - -<p>She allowed him passively to fondle her hand, but her face was still -troubled and cold. Why was it so difficult for him, if he loved her, to -understand and appreciate the nature of her repugnance? Are a girl’s -objections never to count when others have her welfare in view?</p> - -<p>“One would think I were disgraced, and marriage necessary at once as a -shield for my reputation,” she retorted, crimsoning hotly, held by a -sense of audacity and shame, as the full meaning of her words rushed -upon her.</p> - -<p>“Those are words it requires all my tenderness to forgive, Inarime,” -said Pericles, gravely. “You wonder at my anxiety to marry you. Is it -not simply a father’s duty? It is, moreover, a duty women, good women, -owe to the State.”</p> - -<p>“The State!” Inarime exclaimed, with a look of surprised indignation. -“What do good women, as you say, owe the State more than others?”</p> - -<p>Selaka stared at her incredulously. Could this be his child? This young -woman, lashed by angry passions, and stinging him in turn by sharp, -impertinent speech! </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> - -<p>“They owe it the duty to marry and bring up their children befittingly -and intelligently.”</p> - -<p>“You accept too readily that every good woman is capable of this. It -requires, I imagine, special gifts, a special capacity, to bring up -children befittingly and intelligently. It is wiser to count on the -stupidity and capacity of the average.”</p> - -<p>“Granted. O, I grant you that with full conviction. Still, we cannot -let the race die out because, unfortunately, parents are for the most -part idiots and criminals. The State is wiser to assume they are the -reverse.”</p> - -<p>“Then means should be taken by the State to see that the young are -fitted for their future responsibilities. I have met some very charming -young ladies here at Athens—charming, until you have had time to -discover that they are for the most part insipid, uneducated and silly. -I have nothing to say against them. They were prettily apparelled and -amused me. They chatter engagingly—about nothing. They tell me they -have been for years studying the piano, with no result, and that they -have learned at least four foreign tongues for purposes of social -intercourse—not study. I am curious to know how it could enter the -brains of any one to suspect these pretty toys of a capacity for -bringing up their children intelligently. And yet they will marry, and -will doubtless be considered to have accomplished their duty to the -uncritical State.”</p> - -<p>“Well, well, that is not our concern, happily. You, at least, are not -similarly situated. The hours spent by you on study have been spent -to some purpose. The only objection I see to Kyrios Oïdas is, that he -is somewhat old. I would very willingly have changed him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> for young -Herr Rudolph because of his youth and social position. He loves you, -Inarime, he avowed it frantically to me. But just as I had made up my -mind to effect the alteration of bridegrooms, Θις μαυ he explodes in a -flame of ugly scandal, leaving the full theatrical smell of fire and -brimstone behind him. Faust carried off by a female Mephistopheles! -Ouf! This world!”</p> - -<p>Inarime walked across the room, pressed her forehead against the -window, and stood gazing into the street in disconsolate perplexity. -Selaka joined her, and placed his hand affectionately on her shoulders.</p> - -<p>“We have been equally in the wrong towards one another, my dear one,” -he said. “We have forgotten the seemly restraints of speech, and in -our smarting anger and disappointment, have drawn largely upon the -copper of language, as if our minds had never fed upon its gold. I am -ashamed and grieved. Antigone would not have spoken to Œdipus as you, -my child, have to-day spoken to me; and Œdipus would not so completely -have forfeited the respect that was due to him. To get back into the -old groove, we will separate and meditate a while apart. In the light -of reflection, you will see that what I ask is for your sole good. If -this story of young Ehrenstein gets abroad, you will be unpleasantly -mixed up with it, and marriage will be your best, and, in fact, your -only shield from evil surmise. You do not doubt my great love, child?”</p> - -<p>Still hurt and dismayed, Inarime withheld the be-sought-for look of -reconciliation. Her shoulders moved with an uncontrollable sob; this -marriage revolted her, and held her silent. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My daughter! my dearest! Look at me, your father, Inarime.”</p> - -<p>She turned her head slowly, stretched out her arms, and was enfolded -in his. Their embrace was broken by a loud and frantic entrance. -Constantine rushed in, holding a newspaper in his hand, followed close -by Oïdas, whose face wore an expression of vindictive spite.</p> - -<p>“Pericles,” roared poor Constantine, shaken out of his wits, “look at -this! The wretches! the liars! Read it.”</p> - -<p>He thrust the paper into his brother’s hands, and began violently to -wipe the perspiration from his forehead. Pericles had just time for a -hurried glance at the garbled and extremely malicious version of the -Ehrenstein romance in the “Aristophanes,” in which Inarime’s name was -printed in full, with a minute description of her person, when Oïdas -broke out:</p> - -<p>“I am mentioned, too, as betrothed to your daughter. I do not know -who has authorised this impertinence. How can you expect a man in my -position to marry a girl thus advertised!”</p> - -<p>“Is that so? You are not perhaps aware,” shrieked Constantine, “that my -niece has emphatically refused to marry you. She hates you.”</p> - -<p>Oïdas smiled sarcastically. That was chaff unlikely to catch him. -Pericles shook himself with a supreme effort out of his state of sickly -stupefaction.</p> - -<p>“Kyrie Oïdas, it is as my brother says,” he managed to utter, in a -vague, chill tone. “My daughter has to-day communicated to me her -unconquerable repugnance to the alliance you did us the honour to -propose. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> will now do us the still greater honour of relieving us -of your presence.”</p> - -<p>Oïdas strutted out of the room with lips drawn into an incredulous -grin, and when the door slammed behind him, Pericles stretched out his -hands helplessly. His face was white and his lips blue. Inarime rushed -to him.</p> - -<p>“My father!” she murmured, softly. “Uncle, help me.”</p> - -<p>Pericles had fallen back in a dead faint.</p> - -<p>Oïdas went about the town, distracted, and resolved to spread his evil -tale. He did not want for willing ears and believers. Many discredited -his story, and reverted to his former unconcealed anxiety to get the -girl, and her evident holding back. In the next day’s papers a formal -announcement appeared stating the Mayor of Athens wished it to be known -that he entertained no intention of marrying the desposyné Inarime -Selaka, and had officially rescinded his proposals.</p> - -<p>Vague references further appeared to a Turkish lover, a mysterious -Bey, roving incognito over Greece—learned, fascinating and romantic. -This paragraph and the short letter of Oïdas fell under the amazed -eyes of Gustav Reineke, while he sat at breakfast in his hotel. His -face flamed furious. Giddy emotions momentarily held him prostrate and -insane. Then he rose, clenched his teeth, furnished himself with a -heavy riding-whip, and sallied forth towards the newspaper office. He -met the editor in the hall, unprotected and unsuspecting. With a growl -of Homeric satisfaction, he pounced on that unhappy man, and, passion -lending him strength, suitably reduced him to a pulp. Inspirited by -this diversion, he sought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> the mayor, was courteously admitted, not -being known to be on an avenging mission; he then proceeded, without -preliminary, to do the work of an infuriated hero upon the rickety body -of that civic luminary. Oïdas’ howls were fearful to hear, but the -door was locked, and only opened to emit in a flash the lithe frame of -Gustav,—his face blanched, his eyes blazing, and his lips triumphant.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVI.</span> <span class="smaller">HOW ATHENS TOOK THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PERFIDIOUS RUDOLPH.</span></h2> - -<p>Rudolph’s disappearance with Photini created rather more than a nine -days’ wonder at Athens. This is one of the privileges of living in a -small and talkative town where private affairs spread like fire, and -scandal is an excitement only second to that of the election of the -mayor. But it must be confessed that this was a big scandal, and worth -all the ejaculations, comments, and emphatic censure it provoked. The -baron shrugged his shoulders and smiled: it may be allowed he was not -prepared for this sweeping descent on the part of the innocent Rudolph. -But, as he remarked to his wife:</p> - -<p>“It’s always your well brought up and virtuous youths who take the -rapidest strides to the deuce! I told Ottilie, years ago, that she was -bringing up that boy to be a very dainty morsel for any adventuress -that might happen to catch him.”</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear, we must admit,” said the baroness, “that the -Natzelhuber did not put herself to any considerable trouble to catch -Rudolph. I’ve not the slightest doubt that the boy was only longing to -be caught, and not wishing to escape it.”</p> - -<p>“That is ever the way,” remarked her amiable <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>husband, “with our -inconsistent sex. Our normal condition is longing or grumbling. Either -we are crying out against the adventuresses who wish to catch us, or -we are railing against those who won’t; and when we are caught, we are -still crying out that we are caught. The child, you perceive, is father -to the man. Watch an infant with his pets: he fondles and maltreats -the confiding kitten that rubs itself against him, and deserts it to -run after the butterfly. The butterfly won’t be caught and he howls -dismally, if he doesn’t go into a fit, and proceeds to strangle the -tabby. Thus it has been with your engaging nephew. Mademoiselle -Andromache represents the confiding kitten, deserted for Selaka’s -daughter, the unattainable butterfly, and Photini stands for the -domestic tabby. Only the tabby in question possesses very formidable -claws, which she is too likely to use upon the slightest or even upon -no provocation from the faithless Rudolph. He will then return to us a -sadder and a wiser man. Perhaps when that time comes, it will not be so -very difficult for us, with the aid of Mademoiselle Veritassi, should -that delightful young lady be still free, to anchor him in the placid -waters of matrimony.”</p> - -<p>“As for Mademoiselle Veritassi,” said the baroness, “it is always the -girls who come off the worst in these matters. They stand there ready -victims for the worn and jaded rakes who have sown their wild oats. -That wild-oat period is an abomination, Baron, and the theory has done -more to injure young men than anything else.”</p> - -<p>“Madame, I am not responsible for the errors of civilisation. The -period which you so aptly describe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> as the wild-oat period, is -doubtless a sad one to contemplate for those like you and me, who -have passed to the other side, where it is to be hoped there are no -wild oats to be sown. But I am not so sure of that. However, I have -not the slightest doubt, should Rudolph settle down with Mademoiselle -Veritassi, that he will make her as good a husband as any other. -Certainly she will find him very pliant and easy to manage. He is -wealthy, too, and I suppose a young woman cannot ask anything better -than a husband she can easily manage, and a purse she can draw heavily -upon,” said the baron, and continued to smoke his morning cigar without -any unwonted discomposure.</p> - -<p>The baroness went on her round of visits in a saddened spirit, thinking -of that young life wrecked on its threshold, and feeling that her -sister Ottilie, watching from above, might perhaps consider that she -in some manner or another, was responsible for the boy’s fall. She was -a good woman in her way, though a worldly one. Whatever might be her -opinion of the morals of the young men with whom she associated, she -would gladly have shielded poor Rudolph from any such acquaintance with -life as theirs. Having no child of her own, she loved the boy with a -tender and maternal love.</p> - -<p>“It is very dreadful,” she said at dinner to her husband.</p> - -<p>“My dear, let us be thankful that it is not worse,—it might have -been,” said the cheerful philosopher.</p> - -<p>“Worse!” interrogated the baroness.</p> - -<p>“He might have married her.”</p> - -<p>This appalling suggestion silenced the baroness. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> - -<p>Some days later, a letter came from Rudolph from Cape Juan. Already -there was a breath of cynicism in it, startling to those who had known -him in his not far distant period of girlish and fastidious shrinking. -The baron read it attentively, and then said:</p> - -<p>“It seems to me, my dear, your Arcadian nephew is going to the devil as -fast as brandy and Photini will help him.”</p> - -<p>And that was all he said, adding that probably in a year, at the most, -Rudolph would reappear in their midst, hardened, cynical, and worldly -wise.</p> - -<p>The outrage inflicted on Athens in the respected person of her chief -citizen still lifted the voice of uproarious censure, and the Turkish -Embassy had to interfere on behalf of Daoud Bey, who made good his -escape.</p> - -<p>In the meantime, how has it been faring with the victim, Andromache? In -the first flush of separation, Rudolph was as regular a correspondent -as the postal arrangements of the Peloponnesus allowed. His letters -breathed artless affection and most gratifying regrets. They described -everything he saw at considerable length, and Andromache read them -as young ladies will read their first love letters, answered them -as candidly, making proper allowance for maidenly reticence; and -then devoted herself, with much ardour, to discussing Rudolph with -her mother and Julia. All the while the trousseau was progressing -rapidly. What dresses to be tried on! what quantities of linen to be -embroidered what choice of lace! There was confusion in the little -house overlooking the French school, and Themistocles found it more -necessary than ever to seek the quiet and seclusion of his own chamber, -and there to meditate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> upon the young lady in the next street and play -endless and torturing variations of Schubert’s Serenade. And O what -a glorious time it was for Miltiades! how he boasted of his sister’s -brilliant future at the mess-table, and walked the town, or rode on his -coal-black charger, with his friend Hadji Adam, the light of excitement -in his eye strong enough to dazzle the rash beholder! Alas! that these -simple joys should be dashed to the ground in disappointment and -humiliation! Letters came more rarely upon the second separation, and -their tone was more curt and less confiding. There was even a strain -of self-reproach in them which Andromache was too unsuspecting to -construe. But these signs of storm passed unnoticed by Miltiades. The -letter fever, we know, soon declines with young men absent from their -lady-loves, and as the months passed the fever gradually abated, and -Rudolph, the faithless, lapsed into silence.</p> - -<p>Still the trousseau progressed, and still the marriage preparations -went forward. One day Miltiades in his barracks was informed that -Rudolph had returned to Athens;—he dropped his knife and fork in -astonishment. How came it that he was not aware of this? and how came -it that Rudolph had not yet made his appearance in the little salon, -where the Turkish bomb that had exploded at the feet of Miltiades was -proudly displayed? Miltiades sat at home all the day, and waited for -Ehrenstein. He was wise enough not to mention this fact to Andromache -or to his mother. Perhaps there would be a very simple explanation -forthcoming, and why inflict needless pain upon the women? Days went -by, however, and still no <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>Ehrenstein. By the soul of Hercules, how can -a fellow be expected to stand this kind of treatment? The slaughterer -of five thousand Turks sit calmly by, while his sister is being jilted -in the most outrageous manner! Certainly not.</p> - -<p>Miltiades strode the streets of Athens with a more warlike aspect than -ever. The very frown of his brows was a challenge, and the glance of -his eyes was a dagger: the crimson plumes of his service cap nodded -valorously, his sword and spurs clanked. He twirled his moustache -until all the little boys and foot passengers made way for him -apprehensively. Still no Ehrenstein appeared. Then came the climax. It -was an awful moment when the news exploded,—more fatal far than the -Turkish bomb on the table,—that Rudolph had disappeared with Photini -Natzelhuber. We will draw the veil of discretion upon the picture of -a modern Theseus lashed into impotent fury, and striding through the -prostrate forms of his womenfolk in hysterics.</p> - -<p>With a Jove-like front Miltiades faced the Austrian Embassy, and held -stern council with the Baron von Hohenfels. Of course there was nothing -to be done. It was clearly impossible to offer money to a warrior and -a hero. Such a thing as breaches of promise are here unknown, and it -was equally impossible to collar Rudolph and bring him back to his -deserted bride. The baron was conciliatory and courteous, as was his -wont; expressed the flattering opinion that Mademoiselle Andromache -was far too good for a reprobate like his nephew; hoped Miltiades -would allow the baroness the honour of calling upon his mother, -Kyria Karapolos, and her family; and placed himself, his house, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> -everything belonging to him at the disposal of the affronted captain. -The interview terminated amicably—how could it be otherwise with the -most diplomatic of ambassadors?—Miltiades returned to the bosom of his -family, and held a parliament to debate upon proceedings.</p> - -<p>Andromache bore her sorrow better than might have been imagined. She -necessarily did a little in the way of hysterics, but soon settled down -in dreary acquiescence, and spent her days embroidering and practising -the piano. The practice of scales may be recommended to jilted young -ladies. It soothes the nerves, dulls the imagination, and produces a -useful kind of indifference. Young men in similar circumstances prefer, -I believe, wine, or cards, or politics,—or worse.</p> - -<p>This was the hour in which Maria shone. Very faithfully and lovingly -did she tend her young forsaken mistress, hovered over her yearningly, -invented delicacies by means of rice, jam, macaroni and tapioca, to -tempt the appetite of the most hardened sufferer, sat by her for -hours, silently stroking her hair and fondling her hands, and unveiled -exquisite depths of tenderness and consideration. Greek servants and -Irish servants are the kindest, most affectionate and most absolutely -disinterested in the world.</p> - -<p>But there was a curious hardness about Andromache’s young mouth: a -permanent glitter in her dark blue eyes, that bespoke a cherished -design. Of that design she spoke to nobody, but went through the day -pretty much as usual, and was grateful to those who remained silent -upon her shame. The Baroness von Hohenfels<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> called, was most pathetic, -effusive, and strewed her path with good-will. She called again, this -time with Agiropoulos, who stared at Andromache through his eyeglass, -wore an expensive orchid in his coat, and conducted himself with his -usual fascinating audacity.</p> - -<p>“Faith!” he said to the baroness. “I should not object to console the -little Karapolos myself.”</p> - -<p>“That is an idea,” said the Baroness. “I’ll marry you, and then I shall -have Rudolph’s perfidy off my mind.”</p> - -<p>“Well, now that Photini has deserted me for your charming nephew, it -will be teaching Rudolph a nice lesson in military tactics,—to besiege -his deserted town, and carry it by storm,—eh, madame?”</p> - -<p>The Baroness was quite serious in her design. A little Athenian might -be an impossible match for a young Austrian aristocrat, with the blood -of the Crusaders, the Hapsburgs, and heaven knows of what other deeply -azure sources, running through his veins;—but a common Greek merchant -from Trieste, now, an amiable enough person in florid attire, but not -of her world, though gracefully patronised by her! It would be a very -proper match, and one which she was resolved to further. The girl was -pretty—extremely pretty and young. She wanted polish, and a few months -of Agiropoulos’ irresistible society would be sure to accomplish much -in that way.</p> - -<p>“Decidedly, M. Agiropoulos, I am determined to marry you. You must -range yourself. You are now, I suppose, just thirty?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, madame, grace I beseech you! Twenty-six. But you see the -disastrous results of follies and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> harassing cares your cruel sex -imposes on sensitive young men,” said Agiropoulos, with his fatuous -smile.</p> - -<p>“Then it is of greater necessity that you should settle down at once, -and devote yourself to the whims of a wife.”</p> - -<p>“I am only eager for the day. I have been well disposed towards -Mademoiselle Veritassi, but she, capricious angel, will not have me.”</p> - -<p>The baroness felt inclined to box the fellow’s ear, but only smiled.</p> - -<p>A few days later this airy individual left a basket of flowers for the -desposyné Andromache Karapolos.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> - -<h2>BOOK IV.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVII.</span> <span class="smaller">INARIME’S VIGIL.</span></h2> - -<p>The journey back to Tenos was a mournful one. Selaka, in a mixture of -dread and compunction, shunned his daughter’s glance. There might be -a question of the amount of blame due to him for the trouble in which -they were mutually involved, but the physical weakness consequent upon -his sharp attack left him a prey to exaggerated feelings. That his -daughter, his treasure, whom he had believed few men worthy to possess, -should have been publicly insulted by a wretch like Oïdas to avenge -an ignoble vanity which conceived itself affronted—that so horrible -a stroke should have been dealt him by fate, and the heavens remained -unmoved and the blood of life still flow in his veins, vision not have -been struck from his appalled eyes! Pride lay dead at a stroke, and the -unhappy man felt that he could never again lift a front of dignity to -the light of day.</p> - -<p>Of her own wound Inarime thought nothing. To have got rid of the -offensive Oïdas was a gain, even if it cost her an insult. Her -father’s illness was her only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> care. Dr. Galenides ordered rest and -mountain air. Books, he opined, and cheerful shepherd surroundings -would more than do the work of physic. The simple sights of nature and -her restoring silence would relieve the shocked system, and the late -catastrophe should be ignored.</p> - -<p>Constantine travelled with them, moody and petulant by force of -unexhausted vengeance. He paced the deck, muttering and smoking, -smoking and muttering, forgetful of the clamours of the unassuaged -appetite, and consigned the courteous steward to the devil when -importuned to go down to dinner. Dinner indeed! while that fellow -lived who had stolen his friend Stavros from him, beaten him in his -election, and outraged his family. His days were passed in an open-eyed -bloody-minded dream, and he gloated over the picture of the thrashed -mayor, with his features reduced to a purple jelly, and his sneaking -frame doubled up with pain. He could have kissed Reineke’s hand in -gratitude. Horse-whipping was not in his line, but he understood, when -administered by proxy, what a very excellent thing it was. To himself -he plotted how when peace should have descended on the insulted and -angry household, he would manœuvre to reward Reineke.</p> - -<p>“He’ll marry her, he will, or my name’s not Constantine Selaka,” he -reiterated to himself, and took the wide expanse of sky and sea to -witness that it was a solemn oath.</p> - -<p>At Syra they were late for the bi-weekly boat, but Pericles would hear -of no delay, so they chartered a caique and shot across the placid -blue, as the trail of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> sunset glory faded out of the deepening sky and -Tenos showed below a solitary patch of green cloud. As they neared the -little pier, the swift, short twilight had touched the valleys and -lent mystery to the bare sweeps of hillside. A palm stood out upon -the sky and appealed to Inarime’s sad eyes in the language of intense -familiarity. She remembered to have noticed that one tree on her first -childish voyage to Syra and, on coming back, to have claimed it with -eager, friendly gaze. It seemed now that eagerness might henceforth -hold no part in her experiences, and she felt like one who was staring -back with sorrowful visage upon serene unnumbered years. The tears -came rapidly as she noted each feature of the dear familiar picture, -the background of her young life, and with them the magic thought that -Gustav, too, had gazed lingeringly, tenderly upon it, thrilled her -ineffably. She tried to imagine his impressions, and examined it keenly -to discover how it might strike upon strange vision.</p> - -<p>This is a craving of girls—to know how their lovers look upon things -both have seen; to get inside their sight and count their very -heart-beats. Women grow less exacting and imaginative, I believe, and -have more practical demands upon love.</p> - -<p>Aristides met them with mules and voluble utterances.</p> - -<p>“Where is Paleocapa?” Pericles demanded, remembering to cast a -searching glance about for the ruffian steward.</p> - -<p>“He went up to meet some fellows in Virgin Street. I’ve no doubt they -are in the Oraia Hellas,” answered Aristides. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Besotting himself with his abominable raki—the brute!—Annunziata is -well?” Selaka queried, sharply.</p> - -<p>“Did you ever know her ill? Kyria Helena is up at Xinara. Nothing -has happened since you left except the occasional backslidings of -Paleocapa, who at times cannot be kept from his raki and was no less -than thrice dead drunk. Oh, yes, Demetrius’ wife is dead, and Michael -the carpenter is going to be married to make up for the deficiency,” -Aristides chirped on, as heedless as a blackbird.</p> - -<p>“Will you give us peace, you chattering fool,” thundered Pericles with -an outburst of wholesome rage.</p> - -<p>The sharp perfumes of the thyme and pines were wafted on the cool -breezes of an April evening, as the little <i>cortège</i> of mules, guided -by Aristides, wound slowly up the marble-stepped and rocky way, and -Inarime drew in the air with quivering nostrils and parted lips. It was -the air of home she breathed, fresh, untainted, smelling of upper hills -and far off-seas, not that of a dusty city cheapened by the presence -of all-pervading man. Thankfully she acknowledged the quiet of the -land, the view unbroken by moving object. Here, at least, might one -live unshamed, if even the heart were cut in twain. Upon the projecting -point of the Castro, hung one first pale star, steadfast and patient -like the light of a soul. Thus patiently and steadfastly should the -star of love shine for her, its flame softly and uncomplainingly -cherished by her. She would not again quit the shelter of her own grey -Castro that looked so desolately upon these valleys, like the ghost of -other centuries lured to the scene of its departed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> splendours. Her -spirit sprang towards it with a throb of solemn joy. Dear sight! she -could have clung to its burnt flanks and wept among its thymy crevices.</p> - -<p>Night was flying over the heavens as they rounded the little path under -it that leads into Xinara. The wind blew chill and balmy, and chased -skurrying clouds across the peeping stars, like shadows flailed by the -invisible powers to dim their mild radiance. Inarime shivered a little, -and turned anxiously to her father.</p> - -<p>“Pull up your coat-collar, father,” she entreated.</p> - -<p>Demetrius and Johannis were smoking at the shop door when the expected -procession passed through the village street. Michael was sitting in -his betrothed one’s kitchen, staring at her silently, and profusely -expectorating, which was his way of courting. All the villagers that -dwelt on high, leant over their rickety wooden balconies, sniffing the -evening air and talking in a subdued tone, and those below lounged -against door-jambs, or over garden walls.</p> - -<p>“Καγ ἑὁπἑρα,” waved upon many voices to Pericles and Inarime, and more -royal “Ζἡσω” to the King of Tenos.</p> - -<p>“Ζἡσω ὁ βασγἑυς ρἡς Τἡνου,” Demetrius sang out, cheerfully, and every -head uncovered, hats were frantically waved by the men, handkerchiefs -by the women. One foolish fellow high up, ran into the house for his -pistol and luxuriously fired off a couple of shots by way of salute.</p> - -<p>“Confound the idiots!” muttered Constantine, shuddering in his terror -of the explosion. He hated the sound or the idea of the weapon, and his -abortive duel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> with Stavros had not tended to lessen his instinctive -abhorrence.</p> - -<p>“No more of that, my good fellows,” he roared, commandingly. “Any -expression of your kind regard flatters me, but my brother has had an -illness, and is very much shaken. The ride from the town has proved -rather more than his strength is capable of, and your noisy enthusiasm -would quite prostrate him. Many thanks and good-night.”</p> - -<p>“Ζὁψω!” again shook the silence of night as they rode through the -village.</p> - -<p>“The Virgin be praised! We have back our own dear young lady,” Katinka -shrieked, kissing her fingers vigorously.</p> - -<p>Inarime waved her hand in gracious recognition, and the proud, -cherishing eyes of her adorers watched her slim figure, and the homely -shape of her charger until the twilight mist swallowed them out of -their sight. Annunziata and Kyria Helene stood at the little postern -gate to welcome them. The tender brightness of their glances and the -warmth of their cheering smiles struck the home-sick girl with the -force of a buffet. She stumbled choking into Annunziata’s arms, and -hung limp about her.</p> - -<p>“Annunziata, Annunziata,” she cried like a child.</p> - -<p>“My own girl! It is heaven to have you back. ‘When will she come?’ the -villagers ask me every day, and shake their heads mournfully at the -continued eclipse. Dear sir!” she added, as she caught the hands of -Pericles, and held them fondly.</p> - -<p>Pericles pressed her brown fingers, then kissed the cheeks of his -sister and pleaded for immediate rest. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s what we all need—supper and bed,” Constantine growled, turning -to abuse Aristides for delay.</p> - -<p>Oh, the poignant appeal to the senses of the dusky, sweet-smelling -courtyard, rich with its departing spring blooms! It swept Inarime like -the breath of childhood and filled her with fervent gratitude. To go -away for the first time and come back! A month may hold the meaning of -a cycle and awaken in the young heart all the fancies, the miseries and -joys of the wanderer. Astonishment thrilled her that this place should -greet her with its aspect of awful changelessness, and yet, if a stone, -a flower, a chair were changed, it would have left her dumb with aching -regret.</p> - -<p>Annunziata’s arm was round her, and she put up a timid hand to feel the -Turkish kerchief, the plait of false hair outside, and lovingly touched -the wrinkled cheek.</p> - -<p>“It is so good to be back with you,” she whispered.</p> - -<p>“My treasure! my dearest child! I have been with you since you were a -baby, and the sun did not shine for me while you were away,” the old -woman murmured, and her tearful eyes pierced the baffling glimmer of -early moonlight like glittering stars.</p> - -<p>The little white salon was cozy and inviting by lamplight, and beyond -it, in the inner room, the table was laid for supper. Constantine, dead -with fatigue, hunger and shaken bones, pounced on it like a famished -ogre, but a little soup and wine sufficed Inarime and Pericles.</p> - -<p>“Brother, you look thin and worn,” Helene exclaimed, eyeing him -doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“Has he not been ill?” screamed Constantine, between the noisy gulps of -his soup. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am well enough, sister, but very weary,” said Pericles, rising from -the table. “Inarime, I would speak a word with you before I sleep.”</p> - -<p>She followed him to his room, and when he fell into a chair, she -crouched on her knees beside him.</p> - -<p>“My child, I have been humbled through you,” he began, musingly, while -his fingers gently stroked her hair. “Your instinct against my reason! -And instinct conquers, reason is beaten, and grievously rebuked. I -meant it for the best, my Inarime. But now I yield to your wishes. It -would have been well for me to have taken counsel with them from the -first. But this is ground upon which, perhaps, the old may always learn -from the young without disgrace.”</p> - -<p>His speech faltered and died away in supreme weariness. Inarime held -her breath. Could this mean the recall of Gustav? And yet the hope -seemed so wild that she dared not give it a transient shelter lest the -reaction should utterly overwhelm her.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow, father dear,” she urged, kissing his hand. “You are so -tired now.”</p> - -<p>“I have not much to say, and I hasten to have it over that I may not be -obliged to revive the painful subject. I will not seek again to oppose -your natural desire to remain unwedded, since you cannot hope to wed -where your heart is.”</p> - -<p>Tears of disappointment sprang to her eyes. She moved away from him in -silence, and then glancing over her shoulder, saw the droop of illness -in his frame, and his arms hanging languidly beside him. She was -smitten with remorse, and went back to him.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, father,” she said, softly. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Kiss me, my girl, and leave me,” he just breathed.</p> - -<p>She stooped over him and kissed him tenderly. All her reverent love -returned on a swell, and it seemed a small thing to give up her lover -to stay with her father always. The untroubled harmony of their -relations dwelt with her again.</p> - -<p>She went to her room, and opened the window to look out upon the -peaceful night scene. Her terrace ran round the house, and commanded a -view of the plain rolling to the distant sea and the girdling hills and -wide dim valleys. The moon was high under a white veil of milky way. -The bright metallic stars made a counter-radiance to her silver light, -and every leaf and rugged contour was sharply visible in the mystic -illumination. An oppressive silence lay upon the mountains, heavy -stillness enveloped the valleys; the leaves dropped silver, and the -flow of the torrents and the tiny quivering rills ran chill upon the -nerves. The spirit of water and moonlight pervaded the scene, running -through it with innumerable thin faint echoes. Every nook and crevice -lay revealed, and the shadows were defined with harsh distinctness, the -distances losing themselves in their own dark verges. Through the dusk, -yellow lights from the farm casements were sprinkled here and there, -and villages showed through their gardens and orchards as black masses -upon the barren highlands.</p> - -<p>Her heart was empty from excessive feeling as she looked across the -land. Oh, for courage and freedom to wander forth and touch with feet -and hands each well-remembered spot! A bat flitting through the air -brushed her cheek, and she looked up to follow its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> black passage. -She sat and watched everything, her energies expended in the delight -of recognition. The waves of white cloud stealing across the heavens, -and the moon imperceptibly beginning to dip, warned her that time was -running apace, and a fluttering movement in the trees underneath told -of birds softly stirring in their warm nests. The thought of their -warmth made her aware that her teeth were chattering and her limbs were -rigid with cold.</p> - -<p>Still she sat through the night, and watched the day ushered in upon -violet light, that soon glowed like fire. Crimson wings sped over the -sky with quivering promise. At their touch the stars seemed to tremble, -grew pale and were extinguished one by one. The little birds exulted in -their nests and essayed a note or two. Daylight broke upon the earth -from the fires of the East. Warmth travelled down the abysses of air, -and in its first caress the night-dews shone like jewels on the leaves -and flowers. The rapture of the birds grew into a spray of delirious -song; it dashed upwards with the ring of silver mellowing to gold as it -caught melody. The moon gazed pallid regret upon the scene and melted -away in sickly stealth, as the voices of the morning awoke with the -shrill crow of the cocks. Every folded leaf was now unclosed, and upon -the skirts of the flying dawn the sun rose and spread his tyrannous -light over hills and valleys. The world breathed in day, the dewdrops -were beginning to melt, and the song of the birds was insufferably -sweet to the ears.</p> - -<p>Her hands were clammy and her frame was stiff when Inarime rose and -entered her room. Never more would she be asked to leave this place. -The hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> beggared of the touch of Gustav’s, she was now free to keep -unclaimed by any other man. Even that small boon was something to be -thankful for, and she blessed her father before flinging herself down -to snatch an hour of oblivion and rest for her tired young limbs. In a -few hours the kindly villagers would flock to welcome her in person, -and the dispensing of customary hospitalities would leave no time for -poignant thoughts.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVIII.</span> <span class="smaller">SHOWING A LADY KNIGHT-ERRANT TO THE RESCUE OF UNHAPPY LOVERS.</span></h2> - -<p>Spring waned in the extinguishing heat of summer. The noonday blue of -the heavens was lost in a warm grey mist. All the green was burnt off -the face of the earth, and the eyes turned in pain from the burning -hills and shadowless plain, from the awful glimmer of marble upon the -Acropolis and the hot streets below. Shade, shade, darkened chambers -and cool drinks, and the sweet siesta, curtained off from the sting of -the mosquito, were all that nature called for.</p> - -<p>The Baron and Baroness von Hohenfels had left Athens for the repose -of an Austrian country house. They knew that Rudolph and Photini -were wandering about the south of France with an inconvenient train -of live pets, a grand piano, a violin, and discontented hearts. More -than this they did not care to know, and patiently awaited the hour of -reform, when the wild oats period should have exhausted itself, and -the prodigal return to the comfort of more discreet irregularities, -hardened, cynical, and very well disposed to settle down in marriage.</p> - -<p>The Karapolos were looking forward with much satisfaction to the next -September move, and this time were in treaty with the owners of a flat -in Solon Street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> Miltiades was away in Thessaly with his regiment, and -was not expected back until October. Andromache went about the same as -ever, and no one knew whether the wounds of her heart were permanent -or not. But Agiropoulos was attentive, though far from communicative -in the proper way, and Kyria Karapolos, in her state missives to the -absent hero, thought it not improbable that Andromache might be induced -to accept him.</p> - -<p>Little Themistocles was less on parade in Stadion Street because of the -exactions of the weather, but of an evening he cheerfully tortured his -violin, and unbosomed himself to his fellow-clerks in the Corinthian -bank. Things here as elsewhere went on very much as usual. The town -was rapidly thinning, and lodgings and hotels at Kephissia, Phalerum, -Munychia and the Piræus as rapidly filling.</p> - -<p>Gustav Reineke had been voyaging in Asia Minor with a party of English -archæologists bound upon an excavating expedition. Upon his return -to Athens, he found his old friend and admirer, Miss Winters, the -delightful little American, with her lovely snow-white hair and a -complexion as fresh as a girl’s. Gustav was charmed, and so was Miss -Winters. They struck at once into fraternity. He accompanied her -everywhere, carried her photographic apparatus, adjusted it, and as -soon as she disappeared under the cloth, applied himself to read aloud -the classics to her. She took full command of him, ordered and piloted -him in an impulse of protecting and authoritative motherhood that -soothed him unspeakably. He obeyed her with pleasure, and in return -imparted to her the story of his love. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And has the young lady no idea where you are?” she asked, struggling -frantically with her machine on the Acropolis.</p> - -<p>“None. I cannot write to her,” said Reineke, dejectedly.</p> - -<p>“What nonsense! You love her; she loves you. You have no right to lose -sight of each other. Have you never tried to write?”</p> - -<p>“No. I felt the right to do so was not conceded me.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense! it is no question of right or wrong; it is simply natural. -Well, I see I cannot settle this to-day, so I had better go home and -put my other views in order. Did you say the old man, Selaka, lives in -the village of Xinara?”</p> - -<p>“Xinara, Tenos,” nodded Gustav.</p> - -<p>“I see. Well, carry this home for me, then go and stay quietly in your -hotel,—I may have something to tell you in a few days.”</p> - -<p>He carried his burden to her rooms, which faced the columns of Jupiter, -gallantly kissed her tiny hand, and turned with a soft smile in his -eyes as he walked to the Hôtel de la Grande Bretagne.</p> - -<p>“I will certainly make a journey to America to see that charming little -lady,” he said to himself, and while he sat in his room waiting for -the short blue twilight, he took out of his breast pocket the only -remembrance of Inarime he possessed—the unfinished verses he had found -some months ago at the Austrian Embassy.</p> - -<p>Everything on the Acropolis had been photographed from every possible -point of view, and nearly everything in the museums, and on the day -they had arranged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> to start for Sunium, Miss Winters met Reineke with a -portentous air.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Reineke, I have heard from that old man, and, indeed, he is not -worth much. He is just an old heathen.”</p> - -<p>Gustav laughed, touched by the irresistible humour of hearing Miss -Winters, herself more than half a pagan, abuse any one on the ground of -heathenism.</p> - -<p>“What are you laughing at, sir?” she asked, frowning.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I was not quite prepared to hear you turn upon the heathens, I -thought you were in such thorough sympathy with them.”</p> - -<p>“With the ancient heathens, if you please,” corrected Miss Winters. -“That is very different from modern heathenism. The ancients were -respectable, upright and religious men, fearing the gods and respecting -the laws of nature. But your Selaka! He has all the vices of the -Christian, without any of the virtues of the pagan.”</p> - -<p>“Selaka! What of him?” cried Gustav, opening his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Did I not tell you? I have heard from him.”</p> - -<p>“Heard from Selaka? How? When?”</p> - -<p>“Through the post—how else? I wrote to him.”</p> - -<p>Reineke sat dumfounded and stared at her. He believed the courage -of woman in managing the affairs of stricken man went far; but this -utterly surpassed the limitations he allowed it.</p> - -<p>“You wrote to him,” he murmured.</p> - -<p>“Certainly, it was high time some sane person undertook the task of -reasoning with him, and convincing him of his folly.”</p> - -<p>“And might I ask how you applied yourself to this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> task? upon what -grounds you based your arguments?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I told him you are no more a Turk than I am.”</p> - -<p>Gustav exploded hilariously.</p> - -<p>“Why, you know you are not. You are just as Greek as you can very well -be,—far more so than he is, you bet.”</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“He did not see it;—of course not, the old lunatic.”</p> - -<p>“May I be permitted to look at the letter, Miss Winters?”</p> - -<p>“There it is. It is a very instructive letter in its way, written in -far better German than mine.”</p> - -<p>Gustav took the letter, and studied it leisurely. It was dignified -and courteous, spoke in high terms of himself as a man of honour and -learning to whom he should, in other circumstances, have been proud to -entrust his daughter’s happiness. But its tone was unmistakable, its -decision unalterable. Gustav sighed heavily as he returned it to Miss -Winters.</p> - -<p>“He’s a fanatic—that’s just what he is,” she cried.</p> - -<p>“And the worst of it is, Miss Winters, one is forced to admire such -consistent and adamantine fanaticism, though its bigotry be the bar to -one’s own happiness.”</p> - -<p>“Why, of course, that’s the worst of it. If there were not such an -element of nobility in it I should not want to shake him so much. It -is always a satisfaction to be able to call the person who opposes or -frustrates your purpose a scoundrel or a brute—but not to be able to -call him anything harder than a pig-headed old pagan, and to have to -smile admiration through one’s rage of disappointment, puts a point -upon one’s anger. Well,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> never mind, Mr. Reineke. I’ll thwart him yet. -I’ll write to the girl next.”</p> - -<p>Gustav gasped and doubtless thought—as the French critic thought of -Moses—“cette femme est capable de tout.”</p> - -<p>They went together to Sunium, and photographed everything in the -neighbourhood, ruins, peasants in fustanella and embroidered jackets, -women in embroidered tunics and headgear of coins and muslin, and then -went to Corinth and accomplished similar wonders there.</p> - -<p>“I quite feel as if I had a son,” said Miss Winters, patting Gustav’s -hand affectionately.</p> - -<p>“What a pretty and youthful mother I have found,” laughed Reineke.</p> - -<p>Miss Winters delayed in Corinth to write a chapter of her book on -Greece, and Gustav lounged about with the piratical tendencies of an -archæologist. When they reached Athens, borne down by the weight of -manuscripts, vases and photographs, Miss Winters found a notification -from the Corinth post-office that a letter was waiting for her “au -<i>bourreau</i> d’ Athènes.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens, Mr. Reineke, can I in some inexplicable way have brought -myself under the penalties of the law? Is it forbidden, under pain of -death, to photograph ruins and views of Greece? What connection can I -possibly have with the executioner of Athens?”</p> - -<p>Gustav laughed and suggested “bureau,” and went off himself to the -post-office, where, indeed, he found a letter addressed to Miss Winters -in the beautiful calligraphy he so well knew. Then she had written to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>Inarime, and he held the answer in his hand! He looked at it lovingly, -reverentially, and just within the arches of the post-office, glancing -hastily around to ascertain that he was not observed, he raised the -envelope to his lips. He gave it to Miss Winters without a word, and -went away. That evening Miss Winters came to him at his hotel, silently -put the letter into his hand, and closed the door of his room as she -went out softly, as one closes the door of a sick chamber.</p> - -<p>Gustav sat watching the letter timidly, afraid to learn its contents, -and the desire of it burned his cheek and quickened his pulse like -fever. How would the silence of months be broken? Would her message -realise his high expectations? Would the world be less empty for -him because of it? Would this fierce ache of the heart drop into a -contented memory? He felt her arms about his neck, her lips upon his, -her glance pierced his own through to his inmost soul, held her in his -clasp, and lived again their short impassioned hour. How bright the -rain-drops had looked upon the winter grasses and curled leaves, how -clear the song of the birds in the moist air! The moments fled with the -hurry of rapture, his beating pulses timed to their measureless speed.</p> - -<p>Still Inarime’s letter lay unopened in his hand.</p> - -<p>He saw her in the courtyard at Xinara remonstrating with the sobbing -woman crouched at her feet; felt his gaze compel hers and drew in -his breath with a catch of pain at the memory of the sweet surprised -surrender of her eyes,—followed slowly, obediently, her vanishing form -with that last long look of hers to feed his hungry soul. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> - -<p>And still the letter was unread.</p> - -<p>He sat trifling with his happiness and his misery, scarcely daring -to open it, shaken with the apprehensions of yearning, hardly strong -enough to lash himself to courage by the past—enervated, sick with -expectation, chill with fright. Slowly he took the sheet out of the -envelope, and bent his eyes upon it, not noticing that a thinner sheet -had fallen to the ground.</p> - -<p>Thus it ran:</p> - -<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Madame</span>,—</p> - -<p>“I am abashed before the thought of my deep indebtedness to you, -and the knowledge that it will never be my good fortune to repay -you. More to me than your kind words is the comfort of knowing -that, separated from him you write of as I am, by a fatality I -have neither voice nor influence to avert, your presence makes -amends to him for my enforced silence. Your letter breathes of -tender regard for him. Is not that a debt of some magnitude you -place on me? A debt I am proud to acknowledge. Alas! Madame, -it is useless to hope to combat my father’s repugnance to the -marriage you appear to think so natural. I know my father. His -prejudices are few, and strong indeed must be that which raises -an impassable barrier to my happiness. I hold it as a religious -duty to respect it, and smother the feelings of rebellion that -sometimes rise and stiffen my heart against him. I have no right -to rebel, for he loves me—oh, he loves me very dearly. I think -he would almost give his life for mine, and most willingly would -I lay down mine for his. Since I was a little child he has cared -for me and cherished me. He has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> tried to make me the sharer of -his great learning, that there might be no division between us, -that I might be rather a disciple following afar than an alien -to the one object of his existence. You see, it is no common -bond you ask me to break. It would be something more than the -flight of a daughter,—it would be the defection of a pupil—and -he, the tenderest master! I could not bear, by any action of -mine, to forfeit my worthiness of such exclusive devotion, and -should I not do so past excuse if I were to cause him one pang of -disappointment or anger?</p> - -<p>“To follow your counsel, and take my destiny into my own hands -by one wild leap into the bliss my heart calls for, would be to -risk his anger without the assurance that ultimately I should be -forgiven. Do not urge me to it, I beseech you. My father ill and -alone! The thought would make a mockery of my happiness. It would -be a pall upon my bridal robes. Forgive me, Madame. I love you -for your wish to help me, though the effort be ineffectual. If -I boldly seem to criticise, believe me, it is with no intention -to wound. You will think me a coward, perhaps, for I know that -it is different with the women of your race. They act without -scruple for themselves, and their parents have no other choice -than to yield to theirs. But I cannot bring myself to regard -this as right. <i>He</i> cannot surely desire that I should come to -him thus—with the stain of strife and revolt upon our love. You -see I am fastidiously jealous of the future. It is so fatally -easy for the young, upon the impetus of ungovernable passion, to -let themselves be precipitated into rash errors: so difficult to -recover forfeited ground. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But how fervently I thank you for your sweet sympathy and your -offer of a home until such time as another would be mine, I have -not words to say. Your heart must be fresh to be so tenderly open -to the sorrows of the young. I shall bless the day that brings us -face to face. If you would visit our island! But we are so rough -and backward, and the stillness, I fear, would prove oppressive to -one from a country where, I am assured, movement is the extremity -of haste. And yet I love the place all the more from my short -absence from it. It was like heaven to see it again, to feel the -untrodden ground beneath my feet, to watch the unfretted stars -from a world below as uneager and as changeless. The seasons are -not more regular than our habits, and excitement is undreamed of -by us. The villagers come to me with their simple woes, and I -comfort them and doctor them, and instil into them such wisdom -as my young head has mastered. Sometimes my dear father comes to -my help,—not often, for they are less afraid of me. It is, I -suppose, because I am nearer to them.</p> - -<p>“This letter shames me, it is so idle and garrulous. What have I -to say but that I love you, Madame,—I love you, and beg you to -accept the assurance of my heartfelt gratitude and my affectionate -friendship.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Inarime Selaka.</span>”</p></blockquote> - -<p>This letter might seem to lack the artlessness and spontaneity of -girlhood. But its very restraint held a precious eloquence for Gustav, -and it was not the less dear to him because he felt the writer was -completely master of her mind. It held no want for him. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> read -between the lines, and adored the eyes the more that he understood -their tears were held in check. The lips may have trembled in the -reawakened force of passion, the gaze have grown dim with longing, -the pulses throbbed to ache and ebbed away upon the sickening wave -of despair, but the letter only breathed of weakness conquered, the -pressure of a restraint imposed by life-long habit, and could not be -called artificial. He reverenced her sweet reasonableness and her grave -acceptance of the inevitable. He re-read the letter carefully, and -kissed the name at the end. Why had she avoided the writing of his? -He began to walk about the room, picking out sentences to burn upon -his memory, when his eyes detected a slip of paper upon the ground. -He pounced upon it with a presentiment of what it was. <i>Herrn Gustav -Reineke</i> was written outside, and it was delicately folded. He opened -it, and his breathing could have been heard at the other end of the room.</p> - -<blockquote><p>“Dear One—my dearest! My father has at last consented to let me -remain unmarried—but that is all. We may hope for nothing more. -Still, our love is respected. I cannot think it is wrong of me to -send you this message. At least, I hope it is not. You have my -faith. O, I love you, I love you.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Gustav sat through the night with his head bent over this message. -Desires and thoughts and wild hopes wavered and shot through him like -arrows, now swift and sharp, now blunt and slow, needlessly lacerating -in their passage. When morning came he shook off his dream, and replied -to Miss Winter’s glance of veiled interrogation by a look supplicating -silence.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIX.</span> <span class="smaller">HOW A MAID OF ATHENS AVENGED HERSELF.</span></h2> - -<p>One day late in October the news somehow or other reached Rudolph, when -at Cannes, that Selaka and his daughter were back in Athens. Without a -word of explanation to Photini, who was engaged upon a public concert, -he started off, and arrived in Athens late at night. The Baron and -Baroness von Hohenfels were startled at their midday breakfast, next -morning, by the entrance of the prodigal.</p> - -<p>“Rudolph, good heavens!” cried the baron, and shook him gladly by the -hand, but Rudolph was cold almost to rudeness. He suffered himself -to be embraced by his aunt, and then went and stood against the -mantelpiece. It was impossible not to note and deplore the change in -him: from an engaging and innocent boy he had turned, in less than -a year, into a hard and reckless-looking young-old man. His air was -aristocratic but strangely unattractive, and his fair face was lined as -no face should be lined at twenty-two. The blue eyes that used to be so -soft in their clearness, so like his mother’s, as the Baroness thought, -were now keen and glittering and held a dull fire within them. He stood -thus looking moodily down, and then said curtly:</p> - -<p>“You are surprised to see me, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I will admit,” the baron answered, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>“something in the nature of -an announcement might have been expected, as a reasonable concession to -the laws of courtesy. But since you are here, you had better sit down -and take some breakfast with us.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph laughed, and took a chair at the table. Before eating he -poured himself out a generous tumbler of wine, and drank it almost -at a draught. The baron stared a little, looked across at his wife, -and lifted his brows meaningly. The talk at first was light. Rudolph -touched upon the places he had seen, and made himself exceedingly -witty and merry at the expense of the distinguished personages he -had met in the course of his travels. He asked how matters stood at -Athens; inquired after Agiropoulos and Mademoiselle Veritassi, the -Mowbray-Thomases, and his friend the young Viscount, but never a word -was said about Andromache. Then lying back in his chair, and lighting a -cigar, the baron asked, with a mocking smile.</p> - -<p>“And, my amiable nephew, how fares it with the fascinating Natzelhuber?”</p> - -<p>Rudolph drew in his brows with a frown, and looking hastily at his -aunt, said:</p> - -<p>“We will not discuss her, sir, if you please.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” assented the baron, interjectionally, and busied himself with his -cigar; “may one, without indiscretion, be permitted to inquire into -your plans for the future?”</p> - -<p>“I have no plans,” said Rudolph, taking up a cigar.</p> - -<p>“At least I see,” laughed the baron, “you have succumbed to the -beneficial influence of tobacco.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I smoke now; I do most things now that other men do.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> - -<p>“So I perceive,” said the baron, drily, “you even look as if you did -a little more,” he added, noting that Rudolph had helped himself to a -second glass of brandy.</p> - -<p>When Rudolph stood up, the baroness stopped him with a demand to know -if they might expect the pleasure of his presence at dinner that night.</p> - -<p>The young man nodded and left the room.</p> - -<p>“A singularly altered young man,” said the baron, across to his -wife, “it seems to me that the Natzelhuber has imparted some of her -natural courtesy to him, and given his manners the piquant flavour of -originality!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he is frightfully changed,” said the baroness; “and did you remark -his deplorable weakness for wine?”</p> - -<p>“Well, yes, it struck me, I confess, that he rather copiously washed -down the small allowance of food he indulged in.”</p> - -<p>“Poor boy, we must only try and keep him here now that we have him, and -get up a few lively entertainments for him. That he is wretched it is -easy to see. I think his recklessness comes from despair.”</p> - -<p>The baron shrugged his shoulders. “That is always the way with -well-brought-up youths,—the slightest folly plays the very mischief -with their temperaments, and they are ever in extremes, whether on the -path of virtue or on the more fascinating road to the dogs!”</p> - -<p>While the easy-going ambassador was thus moralising, Rudolph was -scouring Athens in search of tidings of the Selakas. Having ascertained -at the <i>Hôtel des Étrangers</i> that they had gone out for a drive, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> -returned to the Embassy, borrowed one of his uncle’s horses, and was -soon out upon the open road, sweeping the plain of Attica with eager -glances strained in every direction for the carriage in which the -father and daughter might be found.</p> - -<p>Upon the skirt of the olive-misted plain he dismounted, and entered the -leafy shade of a little café garden, lost in a glade of scented pines -and oleanders. Here he called for cognac, and sat moodily smoking until -the sun went down.</p> - -<p>Let us glance at the house of Karapolos now, situated in Solon Street. -Miltiades is back from Thessaly, more glorious and more ferocious than -ever. He learnt that morning of Rudolph’s reappearance in Athens, and -communicated that fact to his family at dinner. That evening, as he -returned from duty, he missed a dainty silver pistol his friend Hadji -Adam had given him. With a brow of thunder and voice of menace he -sallied forth and had his servant Theodore arrested for the robbery. -While Theodore was being carried off, shrieking and protesting, and -calling upon all the saints and the Virgin and the soul of his dead -mother to witness that he was being falsely accused, Andromache, for -some unaccountable reason was wandering about the steep solitudes of -Lycabettus in company with the faithful Maria. She had been allowed to -go forth in pursuit of veils and gloves in the frequented street of -Hermes. Now, what, one asks, could take a young lady towards sunset up -a lonely and rugged slope of Lycabettus, when her ostensible journey -lay in the region of shops? This was a secret known only to Andromache -and to the faithful Maria. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p> - -<p>On the following afternoon, Andromache begged her mother to take her to -hear the band play upon Constitution Square. The square was thronged, -the ladies, as is customary in Athens, walking together, and the men -in similar fraternity, Captain Miltiades was with these, and so were -Agiropoulos and the popular poet.</p> - -<p>A close observer might have noticed that Andromache’s pretty dark -blue eyes glistened with a curious light; that the blood had left her -face and lips, and that she walked like one in a state of nervous -excitement. Poor, betrayed, little Andromache! if only she had confided -her frantic purpose to somebody, and had not all these months repressed -her sorrow, and striven to show a brave front to the curious world! -Many horrors are spared the loquacious, and the worst follies are -those committed by silent sufferers. Andromache kept looking fixedly -round in evident watch for some one. If you want to meet any one in -Athens, you are sure to do so between Stadion Street and Constitution -Square. The person Andromache was looking for soon made his appearance, -walking casually along, not caring greatly to examine the people that -were hustling against him. He sat down at a café table, and called for -coffee, and while waiting for it began to roll up a cigarette, and -unconsciously hummed the melody of Waldteufel’s “Souvenir,” which the -band was playing. Andromache made a step forward from her mother’s -side to the table at which Rudolph was seated; and in a second she -whipped out of her breast the little silver pistol, for the loss of -which Theodore was in prison, and fired straight at the shoulder of -her recreant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> lover. Imagine the commotion, the whirr of speech and -explanation, the jostling to look at the injured maid and the wounded -man. The band stopped playing in the middle of Waldteufel’s charming -waltz, band-master and band attracted to the spot. Strange as it may -appear, all Hellenic sympathies were upon the side of Andromache: not a -single voice of censure was raised against her, but everybody seemed to -think that she had performed a feat of courage. Here her courage ended; -the pistol fell from her hand, and she dropped rigid into her mother’s -arms. She was carried home, and soon passed into the unconsciousness -of brain fever. Rudolph was not seriously injured, but faint enough to -need the help of a carriage to take him back to the Austrian Embassy, -with the prospect of confinement to his room for a few days.</p> - -<p>The Baron von Hohenfels in his official position was greatly perturbed -by this scandal, and made immediate application for a change of -post. He was too angry to visit his luckless nephew’s room until the -baroness’ prayers melted him. When Dr. Galenides had seen the patient, -and pronounced him in a favourable condition for recovery, the baron -suffered himself to be led to the bedside.</p> - -<p>Rudolph looked very piteous upon his pillow, with the flush of fever -on his white cheeks and a harassed, humble expression in his eyes. The -much aggrieved baron relented, hummed and hawed a little as a kind of -impatient protest, stroked his beard, and finally began, in a softened -voice:</p> - -<p>“My dear boy, are you quite satisfied now that you have made Athens too -hot for an Austrian Ambassador?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am very sorry, uncle,” said Rudolph, and he looked it.</p> - -<p>“Well, yes, I can quite believe that you are not exactly jubilant.”</p> - -<p>“As soon as I am well enough to move, I’ll leave Greece, and wild -horses will never drag me here again.”</p> - -<p>“On the whole, I think you have done fairly well upon the classic -shores of Hellas, and it would be as well to confine yourself to the -rest of Europe during the remainder of your mortal career. But it is -a little hard on me that my family should reflect discredit upon my -country. Zounds! Could you not have understood that the Greeks are a -most susceptible and clannish race? There is one thing they will not -forgive, and that is an affront done a compatriot by a stranger. And we -Austrians, you must know, are not more adored here than the English. -In fact, we are hated. If the French Viscount had jilted Mademoiselle -Andromache Karapolos, and had been shot at by her, public indignation -would have taken a considerably modified tone.”</p> - -<p>“What can I do, uncle?” asked Rudolph, penitently.</p> - -<p>“Get well as soon as possible, and give Athens a wide berth. I cannot -advise you to fling yourself at the feet of the fair Andromache, for -I don’t believe that young lady could very well persuade herself -to forgive you after this public scandal. It is a stupid affair -altogether. I thought you were flirting, but an engagement! Good -heavens! What do you imagine to be the value of a gentleman’s word? A -promise of marriage is not a thing that can be lightly made, because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> -it is not a thing that can ever be lightly broken. The man is called a -cad, and the woman a jilt; and both are greatly the worse for such a -reputation.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph said nothing, but his way of turning on his pillow was a direct -appeal for mercy. The baron felt it to be so, and got up, believing -that the heavy responsibilities of uncle were accomplished with grace -and dignity.</p> - -<p>When the illustrious Dr. Galenides called next day, he found his -patient so far recovered that he felt disposed to sit at his bedside, -and chat with him in a friendly way.</p> - -<p>“My dear young friend,” he said, cheerfully, “it is the fault of -youth, and perhaps, in a measure, its virtue, to be too precipitate. -If intelligent young people could only be induced to take for their -motto that wise and ancient precept, ‘Μησἑν ἁγαν’—which I believe the -French translate as ‘le juste milieu,’—there would be no such thing as -maidens forced to avenge themselves by means of a pistol, nor young men -deserving such treatment.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph shrank a little, and said, with assumed coldness:</p> - -<p>“Pray, doctor, do not think hardly of her. I behaved badly to her, and -only cowardice kept me from going to her and asking her to forgive me.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Galenides smiled and bowed.</p> - -<p>“She is regarded as a heroine now.”</p> - -<p>“And I, my uncle tells me, as a cad,” cried Rudolph, bitterly.</p> - -<p>“Well, not exactly as a hero, I have to admit.”</p> - -<p>“Have you heard how she is, doctor?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Very ill indeed—brain fever,—but she is young and strong.”</p> - -<p>“Doctor, if you see her, will you take her a message? I dare not write. -Tell her my sufferings have been greater than hers, and tell her I -shall always remember her as a sweet and charming girl far too good for -me. I hope she will be happy. As for me, doctor, my life is wrecked -upon the threshold.”</p> - -<p>“One always thinks so at twenty-two. At thirty-two one understands -that it is rather difficult to wreck a man’s life. Get well, my dear -Monsieur Ehrenstein. Life is a very pleasant thing, I assure you, full -of kindly surprise and interest. And remember the wise motto of my old -friends—‘Μησἑν ἁγαν’—neither extreme, the just middle,” ended the -physician, balancing by way of illustration a paper knife upon his -finger.</p> - -<p>While Dr. Galenides was putting on his gloves, the baroness entered -the room, accompanied by Pericles Selaka. Rudolph’s face went bright -scarlet, and then turned white, with a pinched, and anxious expression.</p> - -<p>“You, Pericles!” cried Dr. Galenides, with something like alarm in his -voice. “I was on my way to you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I am much better to-day, and wanted very much to see how this -other patient of yours is getting on,” said Selaka, approaching.</p> - -<p>“Are you ill, too?” asked Rudolph, excitedly.</p> - -<p>“A little unwell, but it is nothing,” answered Selaka, with a smile, as -he took Rudolph’s hand and held it. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p> - -<p>Dr. Galenides glanced significantly at the baroness, and went away.</p> - -<p>Selaka leant across the side of the bed, and looked steadily at -Rudolph, over whom the baroness was hovering with maternal attentions. -The sick man reached out his hand to take his aunt’s, and held it an -instant to his lips.</p> - -<p>“Poor fellow! you will be excited in a minute,” said the baroness.</p> - -<p>“It is kind of you, Herr Selaka, to come to me,” Rudolph said, in -German.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry for what has happened,” returned Selaka. “I know nothing -more regrettable than the frantic precipitancy and anger of youth. -I cannot understand why you should have made a promise you did not -consider binding, or why, having made it, you should have broken -it. It would not be my place to speak upon a matter so delicate and -so private, did I not feel, through a member of my family, partly -responsible for your misbehaviour.”</p> - -<p>“I doubt the utility or kindness of scolding the wrong-doer when the -mischief is done,” interrupted the good-natured baroness.</p> - -<p>“Scold! I trust I do not seem to scold, madame,” said Selaka, opening -his eyes, and thrusting out his hand with an air of stately reproach. -“Not even you can be more sorry for this young man’s misfortune. He -is much censured at present. But my voice is not amongst those that -censure him. I simply do not understand how he can have behaved so -unwisely. But my heart is filled with pity for him. I am sure he never -wished to wrong or pain any one, and I deeply feel that one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> my name -should unconsciously have been the means of bringing this grief upon -him, and upon others. Had he trusted me when he first found his faith -wavering where he had hoped it anchored, I should have taken measures -to protect him from his own uncertain heart. Believe me, it would -have been best so, and you, my poor young friend, would have been the -happier.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you are right, sir,” said Rudolph, wearily. “I am sure I -do not know. But tell me—tell me something about her—about your -daughter. Does she despise me?”</p> - -<p>“She grieves for you, and deplores her own disastrous influence upon -you.”</p> - -<p>“She need not. I do not desire that she should grieve for me,” cried -Rudolph. “You all speak of me as if I had committed some frightful -crime—a murder, a forgery, a felony—as if I had incurred indelible -shame. Granted I have misbehaved myself—we will even grant that I -have not acted as a gentleman—am I the first to find he had given his -promise to the wrong person?”</p> - -<p>“Rudolph Ehrenstein, you well know you have done worse than this,—you -affronted your deserted bride by linking your life in the face of the -world with that of a woman who had already incurred public odium. This -is what grieves me most, and it is this step I feel that drove that -unhappy girl to her mad act.”</p> - -<p>“We will not speak of her, if you please, Herr Selaka,” said Rudolph, -with a proud look. “As for Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, it wounds me that -she should be so cruelly misjudged. Believe me, under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> more fortunate -circumstances, she would have been a good woman. She is full of -kindness and sympathy for every phase of misery. She gives away the -money she earns more freely than many rich people spend that which they -inherit. She is an unhappy woman, sir; there is nothing base or shabby -in her, and I am not so sure that there is not a good deal that is -noble.”</p> - -<p>“I can well believe you, Herr Rudolph. I have not the honour of knowing -Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, and the public voice rather loves to spread -abroad the fame of glaring vices than that of private virtues. The -lady, I believe, has made a point of shocking every accepted canon -of taste, and, of course, society revenges itself by painting her as -black as possible. But we Greeks, despite our French tastes, are a -very sober and a very moral people, and a step like yours takes away -our breath. This sounds like preaching, does it not? But I am grieved, -distressed. I would have given you Inarime,—once, I almost wished it. -However, it was useless to hope for that. My daughter’s heart is given -elsewhere, and it is well now that it is so. Still, had you told me of -this entanglement, had you left it in my power to aid you! Young men, I -know, sometimes shrink from opening their hearts to their parents and -relatives. But me you would have found indulgent and perhaps helpful.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph stretched out his hand and Selaka clasped it warmly.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, sir! It would have made all the difference if Inarime -thought as you do. Do you know why I came back to Athens?”</p> - -<p>“I think I can guess,” said Selaka, smiling. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I loved her so! and, Heaven help me, I cannot choose but love her -still. May I hope to see her, sir?” he asked, humbly.</p> - -<p>“No, Herr Rudolph,” said Selaka, shaking his head. “That I cannot -permit, nor would she consent. In the years to come, when I shall be no -more, it will be for her to choose her friends, but as long as I stand -between her and the world those friends shall be spotless, or at least -their names shall be untainted by the breath of public scandal.”</p> - -<p>“The lives of young men would be very different if all parents were -as particular and severe as you, Herr Selaka,” observed the baroness, -turning round from the window.</p> - -<p>Rudolph moved upon his pillow, and covered his eyes with his arm.</p> - -<p>“You are right, sir, I am not worthy to look upon her,” he said.</p> - -<p>Suddenly there was heard from the hall an ominous sound, the louder -because of the stillness of the house. The baroness ran to the door -and held it open, listening anxiously. Could that voice, pitched in a -key of lofty indignation, be mistaken for other than the voice of an -angry hero? Ah, who but Miltiades, the glory of modern Athens, could -stride in that magnificent fashion through a hall, clatter and clang -his spurs along the tessellated pavement, rattle and shake the stairs, -the balustrade, with as much noise as all the heroes of Homer sacking -Ilion; nodding fearful menace in his crimson plumes and sending potent -lightning flames with his violet glances?</p> - -<p>The baroness looked question and alarm at Selaka,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> and poor Rudolph, -cowed by weakness and fright, shuddered among his pillows, whiter far -than the linen that framed his face.</p> - -<p>“Do not seek to bar my passage, menial,” Miltiades was roaring, as the -clatter and clang of sword and spurs approached the sick chamber. “It -is Monsieur Rudolph Ehrenstein I desire to see.”</p> - -<p>Even Rudolph could not resist a ghastly smile at hearing his name -so curiously pronounced by the warrior. Miltiades stood upon the -threshold, and the baroness could not have looked more petrified if she -had found herself confronted by an open cannon.</p> - -<p>“Madame,” said Miltiades, ever the pink of courtesy, as the brave -should be to the fair; after his most ceremonious military salute, he -advanced a step, and said, “I have a few words to say to your nephew, -Monsieur Rudolph Ehrenstein.”</p> - -<p>“Enter, enter, I pray you, Captain Karapolos,” said the baroness in -rather halting but intelligible Greek. “My nephew is ill—as you see. -Perhaps you will consent to spare him the unpleasantness of a scene. He -is very ill.”</p> - -<p>“So, madame, is my sister. Dr. Galenides tells me she will hardly -recover. Is this to be borne quietly—think you?”</p> - -<p>“Kyrie Selaka, explain to him—I do not know Greek well enough. Tell -him how grieved, how miserably sad the baron and I are about this -business. Speak kindly for us and try to soothe him. I understand he -must be in a desperate state, and heaven knows how sincerely I pity -him. Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph, when will you young men learn to think of -others as well as yourselves?” she cried, distractedly. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Captain Karapolos, this proceeding of yours is surely as unseemly as -it is futile,” said Selaka. “What good do you expect can come of such a -step? It will not restore your sister to health and happiness, and you -but needlessly inflict pain upon this lady, who is sincerely distressed -for you. My dear sir, the great lesson of life is, that the inevitable -must be accepted. We cannot go back on our good deeds or our ill, and -it is not now in the power of this young man to repair the mischief he -has done. The consequences of wrongdoing cannot be shirked by those who -suffer them, or by those who have done the wrong. They baffle each step -of flight and struggle, and hunt us down remorselessly.”</p> - -<p>“My dear sir, such stuff may suit a pulpit or a university chair, but -it offends the ear of a soldier. I care not a jot for the inevitable, -and, as far as I am concerned, this young man will answer to me for his -evil deeds—to me, sir, Miltiades Karapolos, captain of King George’s -Artillery,” shouted Miltiades, slapping his chest emphatically.</p> - -<p>Rudolph sat up in bed, and asked feebly:</p> - -<p>“Did he say, Herr Selaka, that Andromache is very ill?”</p> - -<p>Selaka bowed, and Miltiades glared interrogation.</p> - -<p>“Dangerously ill?”</p> - -<p>“It appears so.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, good God! what a wretch I have been! Please tell him, if she -gets better, and will consent to forgive me, I will gladly fulfil my -engagement. Tell him it was not because Andromache ceased to be dear -to me that I left her, but that, loving somebody else, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> felt I had -ceased to be worthy of her. Tell him it was not, heaven knows, for my -pleasure I so acted, that it was a horrible grief to me.”</p> - -<p>Miltiades glanced suspiciously from one to the other, and looked -annihilation and contempt upon the sick youth.</p> - -<p>“What does the fellow say?” he demanded, fiercely.</p> - -<p>Selaka faithfully repeated Rudolph’s message. If Miltiades had been -thunder before, he was lightning now added. He stalked to the bed, -struck Rudolph full in the face, and without another word strode from -the room.</p> - -<p>“Good gracious!” cried the baroness, and fell limply into a chair.</p> - -<p>“I must get well now,” muttered Rudolph, between his teeth.</p> - -<p>Next day Agiropoulos and the popular poet called. It was known all over -Athens that, as well as having been shot at by the sister, Rudolph had -been struck by the brother. Agiropoulos took a fiendish delight in -the situation. Personally he asked nothing better than to console the -heroine as soon as she should have struggled back from the encompassing -shadows of unreason. He was quite ready to place at her disposal -fortune, hand, and heart, as much as he possessed of that superfluous -commodity, which, it must be confessed, was little enough. He loved -notoriety in any form, and was enchanted with the veil of romance that -enveloped Andromache, not in the least scrupulous upon the point that -the veil was smirched with powder and blood. If possible, these unusual -stains but gave an added impetus to his interest. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, my young friend,” he said, sitting down and elegantly crossing -his legs, while, the better to survey the sorry hero of the tragedy, he -adjusted his eye-glass with that peculiar grimace common to those thus -decorated. “You look a little the worse for Mademoiselle Andromache’s -last embrace—eh?” he queried, and turned with a smile to the popular -poet.</p> - -<p>“He has the air of Endymion after the desertion of Diana,” said the -poet.</p> - -<p>“Was Endymion deserted? Faith, that is a piece of mythological -information for me. We live and learn, eh, Ehrenstein?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” said Rudolph, drearily. “The learning is not more -pleasant than the living.”</p> - -<p>“You charming boy! so delightful to know that innocence still -flourishes in our midst. The century is exhausted, but a young heart -is a perennial fount of misery. For, my young friend, there is no more -sure prophecy of youth and innocence than utter woe and dejection. If -you give him time, Michaelopoulos will put that into a neat verse for -you.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t, pray. I hate poetry,” cried Rudolph.</p> - -<p>“It is, I believe, on record that babes have been known to hate milk,” -said Agiropoulos, blandly.</p> - -<p>“Don’t weary me with smart talk. I have other things to think of, -Agiropoulos, and cannot listen to your witticisms,” protested Rudolph.</p> - -<p>“Don’t mention it. I will be dull to please you. May a poor forsaken -wretch inquire after the health of a quondam mistress?”</p> - -<p>“Agiropoulos, if you have not got the breeding of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> gentleman, try to -remember when you are in the presence of one,” cried Rudolph.</p> - -<p>“Whew!” whistled Agiropoulos, with his enigmatic smile.</p> - -<p>“I suppose, Ehrenstein, you don’t exactly want another challenge?”</p> - -<p>“I want nothing, and I most certainly don’t want you.”</p> - -<p>“Is this delirium, think you, Michaelopoulos?”</p> - -<p>“Looks uncommonly like it,” the poet replied.</p> - -<p>“Let me feel your pulse, Monsieur Endymion—what an appropriate -comparison for the moment! That young gentleman was, we are given -to understand, partial to the recumbent attitude. But we are rather -embarrassed by our choice of Selene. Which shall it be, Ehrenstein, -first, second or third?”</p> - -<p>“Will you do me the favour of leaving my room, sir?” ordered Rudolph, -frigidly. “When I have finished with Captain Miltiades Karapolos, I -shall be happy to dispose of your claims, Agiropoulos, and then of your -friend’s, if he thinks proper to demand the privilege.”</p> - -<p>“And then of each of the desposyné Inarime’s suitors, comprising a list -of two members of parliament, a mayor, a justice of the peace, forty or -fifty bachelor islanders and a distinguished archæologist. Don’t forget -the archæologist, I implore you, Rudolph. Demolish him before you touch -me, or Michaelopoulos—the name is rather long, but practice will -accustom your tongue to it—besides, your mellifluous German will be a -substantial aid. First lay low the mighty Karapolos, and in a moment -you avenge five thousand desolate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> Turkish hearths—have they hearths -in Turkey? Then give the deathly accolade to the archæologist. After -that, of course, these two humble individuals are entirely at your -disposal, as the courtly Spaniards say. Do you know Spanish? Neither -do I. Ta-ta, my friend. You have a heavy day’s work before you when -you get well, Monsieur Endymion. To sweep off the face of the earth a -Greek hero, a Greek poet, a Greek merchant, a Turkish archæologist, an -insular demarch, two members of parliament, a justice of the peace, and -fifty Teniotes. Lead me from the presence of this bloodthirsty youth, -friend. I shudder,” cried Agiropoulos.</p> - -<p>Mighty is the passion of anger—mightier far than that of love. Anger -lifted Rudolph out of his sick bed, and placed him, one chill November -morning, opposite Miltiades in a lonely field under the Shadow of -Lycabettus, with Hadji Adam for his antagonist’s second and the French -Viscount for his own. The duel terminated for Rudolph, as nineteenth -century duels frequently do, but Miltiades was imprisoned for fourteen -days in his own room in Solon Street, with a soldier mounted guard -outside, for his colonel, with an unheroic disregard for the laws of -honour, judged his act an infringement of military law.</p> - -<p>While Rudolph, with bitterness in his heart and humiliation on -his brow, was speeding back to Cannes and to Photini, Agiropoulos -progressed favourably with his wooing. Half-dead with shame at her -notoriety, poor Andromache asked nothing better than a chance of -getting away for ever from Athens.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXX.</span> <span class="smaller">CONTAINS A RELICATION AND A PROMISE.</span></h2> - -<p>Two men coming by opposite directions down Hermes Street, with their -eyes anywhere but where they ought to have been, stumbled into each -other’s arms, and started back instantly, with aggressive question on -their faces.</p> - -<p>“Well, Constantine,” one cried, eyeing the other furtively and -distrustfully.</p> - -<p>“Well, Stavros,” the other responded, with a corresponding expression.</p> - -<p>“Here’s my hand, Constantine,” Stavros said, after a reflective pause, -and held out his hand with an air of strenuous cordiality. “Touch it. -It’s a loyal hand, and an honest one. I was always your friend, always -liked you.”</p> - -<p>“And so did I,” assented Constantine, as he laid his upon the extended -palm shamefacedly.</p> - -<p>“What! yourself? I never doubted it, my dear fellow.”</p> - -<p>“No, you,” Constantine muttered sulkily.</p> - -<p>“Come, that’s like old times,” roared Stavros, putting an arm through -the unreluctant Selaka’s, and wheeling him round towards Constitution -Square. “It does me good to hear you after our stupid quarrel.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it was stupid,” Constantine admitted. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p> - -<p>The glorious Miltiades, crossing the square, hailed them with his -full-dress military salute, and hurrying up, shook them boisterously -by the hand and bestowed the clap of patronage upon their backs, while -a humorous twinkle in his handsome eyes betrayed remembrance of their -heroic encounter.</p> - -<p>“The reconciliation of the Inseparables! A sight for the gods. Achilles -and Agamemnon, I am profoundly rejoiced at your good sense.”</p> - -<p>“Friends can shake hands, I suppose, Captain Karapolos, without all -this ado,” sneered Stavros, resentfully.</p> - -<p>“So they can, but I could not resist the temptation to stop and offer -my congratulations. Hoch! Trinken sie wein!” he shouted, proud of his -German, and turned on his heel laughing heartily.</p> - -<p>“The greatest idiot in all Athens,” exclaimed Stavros, scowling after -him.</p> - -<p>The reconciled friends seated themselves at a table, called for coffee, -and began to roll up cigarettes.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you a secret, Constantine,” said Stavros, as he leaned -across and spoke in the subdued tone of confidence. “That Oïdas is an -unconscionable blackguard. You always thought it, I know, and you were -right.”</p> - -<p>Selaka, perfectly conscious that he had never imparted any such opinion -of Oïdas to Stavros, blinked uneasily, and took upon himself the air of -full admission.</p> - -<p>“You found him out?” he interrogated, cautiously.</p> - -<p>“I should think so,” Stavros exclaimed, waving his hand -comprehensively. “But there are limits to my endurance. I am going to -throw him over. I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> compromised myself by being mixed up with such -a fellow. He has money—and he makes no scruple of his use of it.”</p> - -<p>“You showed a fine tolerance, too, my friend.”</p> - -<p>It still made Constantine sore to reflect that his closest friend had -been bought over by the richer man.</p> - -<p>“No, truly. You are quite in error. It was not the money, but I thought -I could do so much better for my family. You see, Constantine, a man -must hold no private feelings in abeyance when the interests of the -family call upon him to silence them. You cannot have imagined our -quarrel was not a cause of real distress to me. But now we are good -friends, eh?”</p> - -<p>“That depends. Why do you dislike Oïdas?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, for several reasons. He behaved like a villain all round to me, to -you and to your family. I mean to expose him. He promised to make room -for us at the University and to get my son that post I have so long -coveted for him. He has not fulfilled a single obligation he contracted -with me. I had much better have trusted to you. You are not rich, and -the golden mist through which he shines dazzled me. I did not expect -him to come to me direct, and to sue me with soft talk. We all do the -best we can for ourselves, Constantine, and often the best is barren of -result.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t want to be hard on you now that you have come to see -your error. You have thrown him over then?”</p> - -<p>“Quite so. We are quits. Some time my hour of revenge will come—it -always does if patiently waited for, and if you like to join me, it -will be yours too. You don’t imagine, I hope, that I had anything to -do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> with that wretched article about Inarime in the ‘Aristophanes’? I -abused him for it horribly. He instigated it, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Oïdas! the mighty heavens! His motive, Stavros?”</p> - -<p>“He heard about that Turkish fellow, and Agiropoulos very maliciously -assured him he had no chance. He was wild when he knew it was all round -Athens that he wanted to marry a girl who didn’t want him. He took it -into his head he was flouted and mocked, and he resolved to bespatter -the girl with as much mud as possible.”</p> - -<p>“The villain! the hound!” Constantine muttered, incapable of coherent -speech or thought.</p> - -<p>“She is back in Tenos, I believe?”</p> - -<p>Constantine nodded, with blazing inward-seeing eyes.</p> - -<p>“He is in Athens—buoyed up, I suppose, with hope.”</p> - -<p>“He! Who?”</p> - -<p>“Your romantic Reineke,—a handsome fellow, too?”</p> - -<p>“Where is he staying?”</p> - -<p>“Just opposite,—the Grande Bretagne.”</p> - -<p>Constantine rose with an undefined purpose, and Agiropoulos, lazily -sauntering across the square, nodded and placed an arresting hand on -his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow! How fares it with your island Majesty? Such a comfort -to have a vestige of royalty,—even spurious royalty in our midst, now -that the real thing has temporarily migrated to Denmark.”</p> - -<p>“How do you do, Agiropoulos?” said Stavros, crossly. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ah, my excellent friend Stavros! The fiery principals! How thrilling! -Zeus! that was a bloody encounter! May I implore the soothing charm of -your society—with a cigarette? Athens is so dull. All the interesting -personages of our drama have vanished, and there is not the ghost of a -sensation to rouse us.”</p> - -<p>“Are you not going to be married?” snarled Stavros.</p> - -<p>“Yes, the silken chains of Hymen will shortly weave their spell around -me. The individual sheds his personality upon the gamelian threshold, -and the dual is evolved. Do I transgress the proprieties of speech? -Alas! my poor single and consequently unhappy friends, you must forgive -the metaphysical impetuosities of a contemplating bridegroom.”</p> - -<p>He gracefully extracted a cigarette from a dainty silver case, and -gazed amorously into space.</p> - -<p>“Miss Karapolos is well?” Constantine asked.</p> - -<p>“She is admirably well—and looks it, and your kind inquiry leaves me -your debtor. The virgin blush of health and heroism mantles her brow, -and she is all the better for her little misadventure and the fever, -which fortunately for me, the happy successor, has entirely carried off -the susceptible humours of an earlier fancy.”</p> - -<p>“I am glad to hear it,” Constantine exclaimed, heartily. “It is very -wise of her to marry at once, and shake herself free of the whole -affair. It must be unpleasant for you, however.”</p> - -<p>“Not in the least, my friend. In the interests of the dramatic I am a -willing sufferer; I will go so far as to describe myself a delighted -martyr. I adore the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> drama, and if there is a thing that wearies me, -it is the thought of monotonous and tame maidenhood. Mademoiselle -Karapolos, in default of a warlike Hector, which a mind more classical -might exact, will next month graciously condescend to accept my name in -the genitive case. Kyria Agiropoulou (Poor girls! it is sad to think -that they are not allowed the privilege of a surname in the nominative -case) is a heroine with a touch of flame and fire in her veins. I have -none myself, and it gratifies me to know that the destructive influence -of two phlegmatic temperaments is happily avoided for my posterity.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens! Who is that?” cried Constantine, standing, and with -his hand grasped the back of a chair, and stared amazedly at a slowly -advancing carriage.</p> - -<p>Agiropoulos turned round with more haste than his boast of a phlegmatic -temperament warranted, gazed with impertinent and complacent curiosity -through his eye-glass at a carriage bowling gaily down from the -Boulevard d’Amélie, which contained an ostensible Indian prince, dark -but not beautiful, who leaned his head indolently against the shoulder -of a fashionable young Athenian lady, whose mother sat alone with her -back to the horses.</p> - -<p>“Typical of the graceful and amiable abandonment of modern life,” -lisped Agiropoulos. “The prince has diamonds and rupees in abundance. A -little must be conceded such a happy being. If this public concession -succeed in the regular way—the mamma on the front seat and the -gentleman on the back, in her place, with his head negligently pillowed -on the daughter’s shoulder—think of the gain, my friends.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> Oh, I see -it on your lips, my excellent Constantine, but spare me the Scriptures. -I can stand most things but a biblical quotation. Strange, it is -only then I discover I possess that distressing outcome of modern -life—nerves. What does it matter—the loss of soul against the gain -of the world? I know the quotation. The young lady probably has no -soul—why should she? A soul is the most inconvenient thing I know of, -except perhaps a conscience.”</p> - -<p>“I call it a disgraceful sight. If the prince does not marry her?” -thundered Selaka, indignantly.</p> - -<p>“Which is very likely, my dear fellow. In that case the mamma will -bring her spotted lamb to Paris, or perhaps London, or naughtier -Vienna, and the stain of the royal head will be washed off her shoulder -by less magnificent wedding favours.”</p> - -<p>“You are brutally cynical, Agiropoulos. Thank God, I live on an -innocent island where one never hears such thoughts expressed. -Good-bye, Stavros.”</p> - -<p>“You are indeed an enviable mortal, dropped into this mire out of that -Arcadia. But go, leave the dust and depravity of this much too exciting -town, and return to your shepherds and flocks and peaceful mountain -altitudes. To us, alas! the glitter and distracting noises!”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye for the present, Constantine. I can’t tell you what a relief -it is to be friends with you again.”</p> - -<p>“Stay! one word, I pray your Majesty,” chimed the imperturbable -Agiropoulos. Selaka flung round uneasily, and frowned on him -inquiringly. “Relieve an anxious mind. Is the beautiful nymph of the -hills well?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My niece?”</p> - -<p>“The peerless maid of Tenos! Who else? The modern Helen! Strange -that history should repeat itself. How many Iliums have since been -burnt, albeit it takes by our humble calculations less than ten years -nowadays. That’s the beauty of the calendar. It ties us to dates, and -the newspapers do their best to tie us to hard facts.”</p> - -<p>“They don’t always succeed,” sneered Constantine.</p> - -<p>“There speaks the voice of wisdom—with apologies to our editor. The -‘Aristophanes’ flourishes, I hope? So Helen is well. When does she -settle down to serene wifehood in the house of Menelaus?”</p> - -<p>“Let my niece alone, sir. You are not acquainted with her. The respect -of women is a commendable virtue in young men,” Constantine growled, -turning on his heel.</p> - -<p>Gustav Reineke was writing in his room when Constantine was announced. -He started up, confused and wondering, keeping the hand which held his -pen pressed upon the papers on the table, and looked inquiringly at -Inarime’s uncle.</p> - -<p>“Kyrie Selaka,” he said, and smiled vaguely.</p> - -<p>“We are strangers known to one another by repute,” said Constantine, -who bowed and held out his hand with the singularly gentlemanly ease of -the islander.</p> - -<p>Reineke took his hand and pressed it warmly. Read in the illumination -of his ardent hopes, this visit was a gracious augury which it behoved -him to receive with visible and cordial satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“Be seated, pray,” he said, and the smile that lit up his dark serene -face was as winning as a child’s. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I suppose you are astonished to see me, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I am deeply grateful—yes, and a little astonished. You have come, I -suppose, to bring me news of her?”</p> - -<p>“Of—not <i>from</i> her,” Constantine said, prudently. “I am not deputed by -any one, you understand.”</p> - -<p>His brows shot up with secretive purpose, and his eager glance was -full of a meaning it puzzled Reineke to read. He nodded affirmatively, -and the light upon his face sobered to the proper tone of unexpectant -resignation.</p> - -<p>“I am grateful under any circumstances. To hear <i>of</i> her is second -best, and it is not given to man often to get anything so good as -second best,” he said, calmly.</p> - -<p>“You are a philosopher, sir, and philosophy is beyond me. My niece -is well—patient as you might apprehend. But that mad brother of -mine is just an obstinate old idiot. He will hear neither of reason -nor expediency. You had the misfortune to be born a Turk, and it is -your fatality. He has some curious idea that man cannot enter into -strife with fate. He never had much brains for aught but books, and I -have observed that books have a naturally weakening effect upon the -intelligence.”</p> - -<p>Gustav laughed tolerantly, and ostentatiously trifled with his papers.</p> - -<p>“You see I too consume paper and the midnight oil.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve no doubt of it. You’d have shown yourself more sensible in this -affair if you didn’t.”</p> - -<p>“As—for instance?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You’d have carried your case high-handedly, and reduced the maniac -to reason. What are lovers for but to create scenes and bear away the -maiden upon the wings of melodrama?”</p> - -<p>Gustav coloured and bent his eyes upon the table. This was hardly the -sort of man with whom he cared to discuss a matter so very delicate -that speech almost affected it as touch affects the bloom of a peach.</p> - -<p>“Your brother is well?” he merely asked.</p> - -<p>“Pericles! Far from it. He has never rightly recovered from that bad -attack after—after—the time you thrashed that scoundrel Oïdas. You -remember?”</p> - -<p>Gustav reddened darkly, and then paled as suddenly. His eyes took the -deadly brilliance of a panther’s, and he said under his breath:</p> - -<p>“I remember,” closing his teeth upon the memory.</p> - -<p>“I never had an opportunity of thanking you,” Constantine cried, -jumping up and insisting on shaking Reineke’s hands as if they were -pump handles. Gustav gravely endured the operation, but when the -exuberant Greek, in his anxiety to discharge his conscience of arrears -of gratitude, bent his head and bestowed two kisses on his cheeks, -Reineke withdrew a little, and lifted his slow Oriental gaze in mild -reproof.</p> - -<p>“You owe me nothing,” he said, impassively.</p> - -<p>“Nothing!” protested Constantine, noisily, “and the honour of our -family vindicated! A miserable coward punished! By the Olympian gods! -but you are a fellow! How my heart rejoiced! I could have danced!”</p> - -<p>Gustav’s face sharpened in the shadow of lassitude. The unnecessary -violence of Constantine’s mood oppressed and irritated him, but he -simply gazed patient<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> inquiry at him, and meekly awaited the promised -news of Inarime.</p> - -<p>“So you see, Herr Reineke—I suppose I may call you by that more -familiar name?—(Gustav bowed) you have made me your friend in this -matter, and I am resolved you shall have Inarime some day. It will be -so easy, if you once forget that you are a Turk.”</p> - -<p>“It is kind of you—most kind, but I fail to see how you will be able -to accomplish it if Inarime’s father refuses his consent.”</p> - -<p>“But, the chief bar removed, there will be no reason why he should -withhold his consent. We’ll see, we’ll see,” continued the uncle. -“There’s a way out of all difficulties. Pericles will come to his -senses some day. But you are right to respect his prejudices, and so -is she. In the abstract, that is. I would persecute him if it were my -case. But lovers are ticklish creatures to advise or interfere with. -In the meantime, if you will keep me informed of your whereabouts, I -will let you know how matters progress, and will send for you on the -slightest chance of success after acquainting him with your readiness -to become one of us.”</p> - -<p>“You will? Kyrie Selaka, I know not how to thank you. Oh, this is -indeed much—it is much,” Gustav breathed fervently.</p> - -<p>“Not at all. I like you, and I want to see you and my niece happy. -Hope! it is I, Constantine Selaka, who bid you.”</p> - -<p>Reineke paced the room awhile in silence, keenly observed by his -companion, and sat down to stare idly out of the window. Phrases of -Inarime’s letter to Miss Winter recurred to him like buoyant messages. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You will be here for some time?” Constantine asked.</p> - -<p>“As long as you like—as long as you bid me hope.”</p> - -<p>“That is well. You are a distinguished personage, Herr Reineke, and it -will not be difficult to find you.” Then in a lighter tone, dismissing -the graver personal matter, he broke into town gossip.</p> - -<p>“I have just met that impertinent young man Agiropoulos. You heard, I -suppose, he is going to marry that little heroine, the Karapolos girl?”</p> - -<p>“How should I? But it is well. A woman is all the better for being -hedged round with the conventionalities of life; and in no case are -they so powerfully protecting as when they chain her by marriage, -when, practically speaking, she ceases to be a responsible agent,” -Reineke said, and added as an afterthought, to exclude Inarime from the -slightly contemptuous classification, “that is, the average woman, that -unexplained engine of impulse and unreason.”</p> - -<p>“Poor little creature! She was hard hit. I wonder what has become of -her recreant lover.”</p> - -<p>“Young Ehrenstein?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. He levanted, you know, with that piano-playing woman, the -Natzelhuber.”</p> - -<p>“I met them in Paris a month ago.”</p> - -<p>“You did? And they are still living together?”</p> - -<p>“Most wretchedly. I cannot understand a man choosing degradation -and misery because the particular happiness he sets his heart on -is beyond his grasp. Women! Yes. If they can’t have the best, they -plunge themselves into the worst. They are in extremes of goodness and -badness, and scorn half-measures. I daresay poor young Ehrenstein finds -a woman’s satisfaction in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span>contrasting his present with the future that -might have been.”</p> - -<p>“Quite a boy! Miserable, you say. Did you speak to him?”</p> - -<p>“No. He was with Mademoiselle Natzelhuber. I would have stopped, but -he glowered on me so forbiddingly that perforce I had to pass on in -silence and without bowing. Doubtless he read commiseration in my -glance, and resented it. They had been quarrelling, and each seemed an -unloved burden to the other.”</p> - -<p>“And you heard nothing?”</p> - -<p>“I met Mademoiselle Natzelhuber afterwards in a fashionable salon. -She had been drawn out of her tub, by what means I know not, and with -Diogenes’ contempt, consented to play. The soul of despair and unrest -was in her fingers. It was the saddest music I ever heard. I spoke to -her of Rudolph, and she implored me to take him off her hands. She said -he bored her, and the sight of him filled her with inexplicable anger. -I got their address, and when I called, she received me, and threatened -to tear me to pieces if I sought to interfere between them. As I walked -away, I glanced up at the window, and saw Ehrenstein looking down -listlessly upon me. His face was the face of a lost soul.”</p> - -<p>Gustav’s voice dropped to a whisper. Constantine sat thrumming the -table with his fingers, and jerked his head up and down disconsolately.</p> - -<p>“It is an awful story,” he said.</p> - -<p>“It has burnt a hateful picture on my mind. I remember the day I first -saw that boy on the Acropolis—a mere innocent, unhappy boy. Now he -drowns his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> misery in brandy and shuns his equals. I heard at a club -that he plays heavily and is steeped in vice.”</p> - -<p>“The Lord succour him! He was a child when he came to Athens. As for -that wretched woman who has brought him to this——”</p> - -<p>“She did not. We are needlessly hard on women. He walked into the pit -with his eyes open, and she was simply an instrument of his own choice. -If she had not been there, he would have found other means,” said -Gustav.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXI.</span> <span class="smaller">SELAKA’S LAST WORD.</span></h2> - -<p>Winter had lashed the Eastern world with sharp frenzy, and now early -spring was raging over the plain of Attica, driving madly in a -whirlwind of dust down from the encircling hills, with its breath of -ice and its shrewish roar. And soon it would be at its verge, and stand -on tiptoe with wistful glance set upon the hurrying summer that so soon -would consume its flowers and grasses and chattering rills.</p> - -<p>Still Gustav lingered at Athens studying archæology and patiently -waiting for Constantine’s message of hope. Exploring expeditions helped -him through the long leisure. The last proposed by Miss Winters was -to Vari, to do homage to the mythical Cave of Pan, where Plato was -dedicated to Apollo and the Muses.</p> - -<p>Gustav drove round from his hotel at seven o’clock in the morning -to pick up Miss Winters and her paraphernalia, at her lodgings in -front of the Columns of Jupiter. Upon the mountains, hue upon hue lay -intermelted in one transfused whole of indescribable loveliness. The -great forked flanks of Hymettus looked so desolate against the joy -of the sky, as to suggest that here had Prometheus been chained and -had stamped it with the legacy of permanent sadness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> Under the hills -stretched on either side wide fields sheeted with blood-red poppies; -the birds woke the air with song, and the air was full of the lovely -scent of the pine. Gustav’s senses thrilled to the exquisite charm of -the hour, and Miss Winters’ gaze was a prayer and a thanksgiving.</p> - -<p>When they had devoutly visited the shrine, difficult of access, and -had come back into the pine region, flushed and tired and heated by -the blaze of sunfire, they were accommodated by a courteous villager -with an empty room, into which a table newly-washed and two chairs -were introduced as additional helps to lunch. The villager supplied -them with boiled eggs, water and bread, which was being baked at the -general oven in the middle of the place, and Gustav produced a bottle -of Santorin wine, some fruit and cold chicken. For a forlorn lover he -ate a very hearty meal, and took an animated pleasure in supplying the -absence of attendance.</p> - -<p>After lunch they went and sat on a little wooden seat, and while Gustav -smoked, Miss Winters, to the complete astonishment of these simple -folk, fed all the dogs of the place upon bread and chicken just as if -they had been Christians. Greek dogs are never fed, they pick up what -they can here and there, and shrink instinctively from man, whose only -caress is a kick.</p> - -<p>“That old man is very ill,” Miss Winters said at length.</p> - -<p>“Which old man?”</p> - -<p>“That old heathen of Tenos, of course.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Selaka!” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes. I met his brother yesterday. He was attending somebody in the -house, and I asked to see him.”</p> - -<p>“Truly, you are a marvellous woman, and a most excellent friend,” said -Gustav.</p> - -<p>“I reckon I can seize an opportunity, and don’t fail for the want of -pluck and keeping my eyes open. The brother is a doctor.”</p> - -<p>“I know. Constantine. They call him the King of Tenos.”</p> - -<p>“Tenos seems to be the home of idiots. Well, the pagan is very -ill—heart-disease—doomed. The doctor is on your side, and says if you -will go to Tenos, in about ten days he will be there to meet you, and -thinks it not improbable that the old lunatic may be talked into reason -before he goes to—Hades or elsewhere.”</p> - -<p>Reineke reddened slightly and breathed hard, but he said nothing. The -mere hope meant too much for speech. To touch again land so sacred as -her island home, to look upon the fastnesses which enshielded her from -the world—to see her, feel her, hear her, divine her nearness by every -acute sense quickened to an ache. Perhaps——</p> - -<p>Thought could go no farther. He rose and flung away his cigarette with -a passionate gesture, and began to pace the dusty path while the driver -got the horses ready for their return. He seemed to see Inarime’s face, -not the landscape, and his heart throbbed with the wonder of it. He was -silent during the drive home, and sat till far into the night on his -balcony, watching the stars come out in the soft<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> blue gloom and wink -and play like illuminated shuttles upon their glossy background.</p> - -<p>Ten days later he came to say good-bye to his friend. The charming -old lady stood in front of him, and peered into his face with kindly -question. A soft smile stirred the grave depths of his dark intense -eyes as he gave her back her look, and tenderly lifted her hand to his -lips.</p> - -<p>“No matter what happens, our friendship must be lifelong,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I mean to fall frantically in love with your wife. You will bring -her right along to Washington City to see me, and I’ll have my book on -Greece ready, to present you with a copy on your marriage.” She raised -herself on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.</p> - -<p>“Now go straight away to Tenos, and I guess you’ll carry the day,” she -added.</p> - -<p>It was not Aristides who met him this time upon the little quay of St. -Nicholas, but insular majesty itself.</p> - -<p>“The King of Tenos,” said Gustav, smiling as he shook hands with -Constantine.</p> - -<p>“The slave of Tenos—the devil take the lot,” cried Dr. Selaka, -angrily. “I haven’t a moment to myself once I land on this wretched -island. Because they make me deputy, I must look after all their -ailments gratis; I must stand godfather for all their children, which -means presents illimitable and care for the rest of my days; I must -lend my house for marriages, and give marriage breakfasts to all the -daughters—dowries sometimes, and last, but not least, I must submit -to be carried about the island, up those massacring mountain paths and -down destructive precipices, while the idiots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> fire off pistols and -guns in the exuberance of their spirits, until I am smothered with -smoke and half-dead with fright.”</p> - -<p>“I see there are drawbacks to the glory of a seat in the Boulé.”</p> - -<p>“I rather think so. Oh! the monsters! I am compelled to sneak down all -the back lanes to escape them. Come this way. Our mules are hidden -under yonder filthy archway.”</p> - -<p>How familiar the ride seemed to Gustav, although he had only twice -ridden through this strange scenery. He recognised every field and -hedge, each cleft in the mountains, the cave of Aiolos, and the little -forsaken fountain with the figures of St. Michael, St. George and the -Virgin Mary roughly carven upon a marble slab by some unknown hand in -the seventeenth century. A thin vein of water flowed from the torrent -above into the fountain with a tinkling sound that broke the silence -very sadly. How desolate in the stillness looked the interminable lines -of marble hills stained with burnt thyme and furze, the great jagged -rocks tinted with gold and red and purple and grey, forked against the -sapphire sky, and the dim grey glades of olives below! Desertion lay -upon all, and the beauty was the beauty of neglect and barrenness. -And above towered the Castro, slanting down from the upper world, -greyer, sterner than ever, with the rocky desert of Bolax behind, and -the villages afar, so white and tiny, tangled upon the slopes, curve -flowing after curve to the horizon, the cornfields and meadows touching -the scene to life, and the sea breaking into the wide green plain of -Kolymvithra like a lake. Here and there a forgotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> faded lemon showed -through the orchards, and the geraniums were as drops of blood upon the -leaves. How dear and homelike, how personal it all appeared to him! -Inarime it spoke of. No sound came to him but the clamour of the frogs -among the moist reeds of the torrent-beds, or the liquid flow of bird -music from the trees, broken by occasional farm cries and the bark of -watch dogs.</p> - -<p>Pericles Selaka knew that his days were numbered. He was filled with -the trouble and indecision of his daughter’s future. But the thought of -relenting towards Gustav—Daoud Bey, as he now bitterly called him—did -not enter his mind. His anger against Gustav was the more unreasonable -and fierce because of his affection and admiration for the man. What -right had a scholar and a gentleman to prove nothing better than a -miserable Turk? Inarime grieved for the fellow. Of course. And did he -not grieve for her grief? Were there not moments of yearning to throw -off this intolerable cloak of resolution, and send for Gustav to make -his daughter happy? Had she not a right to happiness? She was young and -beautiful. The thought of such beauty as hers dropping unwedded into -the grave exasperated him. But a renegade Turk!</p> - -<p>The day of Gustav’s arrival, Selaka was alone in the sitting-room. -Inarime had gone to the fountain for Annunziata, who was busy preparing -the midday breakfast. By an unaccountable impulse, Selaka’s thoughts -flew back to his short married life, and, standing upon the threshold -of memory, struck him with the force of reality. Tears shook upon -his eyelids, and suddenly he raised his head with a listening air. -A delicate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> breeze seemed to sweep past him, and played about his -forehead and hair like caressing fingers. Then it came back again and -approached him like a soft regretful sigh. He rose, impelled by an -influence which he felt it a pleasure to obey, and followed the sighing -breeze. The blinds were drawn to keep out the glare of the noonday sun, -and a ray from a chink broke into the twilight in a dazzling river of -gold. The air just lifted the blind, and breathed again about his face, -this time lingering like a kiss upon his lips; a rose-leaf kiss, that -very tender lips might give. He staggered against the framework of the -window, filled with a superstitious dread. Was this breath the soul of -his dead wife that floated about him with speechless message? Might -it not be that she was filled with concern for the coming solitude -of her forsaken child? Strive as he might against the insane idea, -it grew upon him, and took possession of his frighted senses. A damp -perspiration broke upon his brow, the pallor of terror was on his -cheek, and his heart beat against his side with suffocating blows.</p> - -<p>Hardly knowing why, he held back the blind, and looked down into -the courtyard to see if any wind stirred among the flowers. All was -still. Not a leaf trembled; the flowers drooped in the drowsy heat of -a sultry summer day. He opened the window, and put out his hand. The -air was hot and motionless, and the watch-dog lay panting in the shade -of a palmtree. He closed the window, drew down the blind, and looked -through the soft gloom of the apartment. This time he shivered as the -whispering breath struck him full in the face, like a wing brushing -past. He stretched out his hands with a cry of protest and alarm, and -fell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> upon the floor in a swoon, with the name of his dead wife upon -his lips.</p> - -<p>When Selaka opened his eyes, he found himself lying on the sofa, and -saw the face of Gustav Reineke bent over his anxiously. He stared in -awed amazement, shrank back a little, put up one hand and timidly -touched the young man as if to test his reality.</p> - -<p>“You are better, sir?” asked Reineke, taking the hand, and he held it -in a warm, protective clasp.</p> - -<p>“You! Daoud Bey,” muttered Selaka, indistinctly.</p> - -<p>“Look on me as Gustav Reineke, I beg you, sir, and my presence will -hurt you less. The past is no more for me; have I not promised?” said -Gustav, gently.</p> - -<p>“I am conquered, Gustav. I give her to you.”</p> - -<p>Gustav gasped, and instinctively dropped on his knees beside the sofa. -He hid his face on the pillow, and burst into uncontrollable tears. -The sick man lay still, and watched him in a state of stupid fatigue -and torpor. Somebody entered the room, and crossing, touched Gustav’s -shoulder. He sprang to his feet, and met the serene brown glance of -Annunziata’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“You are welcome, sir, you are very welcome,” she said, and held out -both hands, nodding with subdued approval.</p> - -<p>Gustav took them, and shook them with a force that almost hurt. Yet he -wore the look of a man in a trance.</p> - -<p>“You are a good, kind woman. Tell me where she is.”</p> - -<p>“She is detained in the village. Go into the garden, and I will send -her uncle to fetch her.”</p> - -<p>Gustav obeyed her, and passed out into the garden.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> How changed -everything was since his winter visit, eighteen months before. But -he hardly noted whither he went as he precipitated himself down the -oleander alley. The air quivered with light. The smell of the pines and -thyme floated up from the valley upon the summer wind that just stirred -the laurel leaves and plumes of the reeds in the torrent below. All -abroad sleepy delight, and within an immeasurable joy that touched on -anguish! He stood on the gravel path edged with blue and white irises, -and looked down upon the little goat road behind the zigzag of spiked -cactuses. The shadow of the kids, as they played, wavered upon the -silver light that sparkled and shook in liquid masses from the upper -rocks.</p> - -<p>Would she come by that path? The eternal sunshine and the aching mist -of blue dazzled him as did his own overpowering happiness. The rapture -of the birds was a fit interpretation of his own rapture, and the -lizards, darting in and out of the rocks like shuttles quick with life, -were as his beating pulses. He loved everything, the water and flowers, -the quaint and tiny insects that flew around him, and the pigeons that -flashed through the air with an impetuosity he longed to rival.</p> - -<p>A step behind him drained the blood from his heart, and he turned, sick -and frightened with the strength of passion.</p> - -<p>Inarime was looking at him with equal fear and awe. Slowly and silently -their glances drew one another until their hands met, but speech was -beyond them. They did not speak at once nor embrace, but remained thus -standing and gazing, and then a flame sprang into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> Gustav’s intense -look, and spread like fire over his face.</p> - -<p>“Inarime!” he murmured, and opened his arms.</p> - -<p>She was in them enfolded, and their lips were one.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Gustav, you have come to me,” cried Inarime.</p> - -<p>“At last! At long last! Did it seem long to you, dearest?”</p> - -<p>“Long! I tried so hard to do without you, but it grew harder each day. -But you are with me now, dear one.”</p> - -<p>“Not again to leave you, Inarime. My own, how best shall I serve you? -How shall I treat you? It is as if a mortal were mated with a goddess.”</p> - -<p>“You, too, O love, are to me as a god,” whispered Inarime.</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, beloved, you must not so exalt your worshipper,” protested -Gustav, laughing, while he drew her to a stone and gently forced her to -sit down, that he might kneel before her, and hold her clasped.</p> - -<p>He looked up at her in mute adoration, and smiled. She framed his -dusky, glowing face with her hands, and her own, bent over it, looked -glorious in its joy.</p> - -<p>“Dearest,” he cried, “bliss cannot madden or kill, or I should not now -be kneeling here, alive and sane.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Gustav, life is so short. No wonder lovers must have their -hereafter. We may not reach an end.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, sweet, our life shall not be short; while others merely exist, we -shall live our days to the very full. Think of it—a future with each -other. Here, hereafter! It cannot be for us other than Paradise.”</p> - -<p>“I love you, Gustav.”</p> - -<p>“Goddess, I adore you.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span></p> - -<p>She pressed her cheek against his, and he felt her happy tears.</p> - -<p>“My father will need me—us,” she said. “Come.”</p> - -<p>They found Selaka waiting eagerly for them. Inarime had not seen him -since his seizure, and ran to him with a cry of pain, shocked to see -him look so ill.</p> - -<p>“My son,” said Selaka, with laboured breath, “I would ask you much, -since I have given you so much.”</p> - -<p>“There is nothing, sir, you can ask that I will not gladly grant,” said -Gustav, taking his hand.</p> - -<p>“I would charge you with my dying breath not to resume your hateful -name. It would sting me in the grave if my daughter bore it.”</p> - -<p>“It shall be as you wish, sir. Inarime will be the wife of Gustav -Reineke, and Daoud Bey is no more.”</p> - -<p>The old man winced under the name, but feebly pressed Gustav’s hand. -Shaken with terror and regret for her own great bliss, Inarime knelt -beside the sofa, and looked beseechingly at her father.</p> - -<p>“I have one other request to make to you, my children. You have been -kept apart long enough. I do not desire that my death should impose -a longer separation upon you. If you must mourn me—though I do not -desire that either—let it be together. Let not the grave overshadow -your wedding joys. Think of me, not as dead but as a disembodied spirit -that will hover around and about you in tender concern, sharing your -griefs, which it is my prayer may be few, and your delights, which -I hope will be many. Weep not for me, Inarime. Death is but a quiet -sleep, the grave but rest. You will have your husband. He will be all -to you—more even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> than I. Promise me, my beloved child, that you will -not grieve, and that there will be no delay in your marriage.”</p> - -<p>Inarime crept closer to her father, and twined her arms round his neck.</p> - -<p>“There, there, my girl. Gustav, you will be very tender to her.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir, my life henceforth will be devotion to her.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, thank you. I feel it will be so. Take her now; comfort -her, and dry her tears. That is well. The arms that hold her now are -stronger than mine, the breast that pillows her head will henceforth be -its best protection. And should a son be born to you, my children, call -him Pericles after me, and bring him up to love greatly the great past -of my country. Come nearer, my sight grows dim. Call Annunziata, and my -brother. I would bid them farewell. You, Inarime, stay close to me. It -is with your dear hand in mine that I would go hence into the unknown.”</p> - -<p>Constantine and Annunziata were waiting outside. But when they followed -Gustav into the dying man’s presence, Selaka had fallen into a doze. No -word was spoken. Annunziata wept silently: Constantine’s sobs were the -only sound; Inarime knelt watching her father’s face, and Gustav stood -over her with his arm about her neck. Selaka’s eyes opened, and flashed -with a ray of youth. He uttered his wife’s name in a loud, clear voice, -and then the light of life was extinguished.</p> - -<p>Gustav bent and kissed Inarime.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXII.</span> <span class="smaller">CONCLUSION.</span></h2> - -<p>Time, summer afternoon, touching sunset, early in the month of -June.—Scene, the beach of Phalerum.</p> - -<p>The band is playing a lively selection from Lecocq, whose works are -delighting the Athenians, interpreted by a third-rate French company -three times a week at the Olympian Theatre of Athens, and three times -nightly at the theatre of the Piræus. All the seats outside the Grand -Hotel are filled, as are those edging the golden strand where the -children are digging and making sand-pies—quantities of babies, -dressed in French taste, in English taste, and overdressed whatever the -taste, and quarrelling and making-up in a variety of tongues.</p> - -<p>Every table shows a display of coffee cups, of liqueur glasses and of -empty ice plates. The Athenian gilded youth walk up and down, twirling -slim canes; with shorn heads, wide-brimmed hats, white trousers, and -moustaches turned up with emphasis. Droll youths with a serious belief -in their own fascinations, made up, some of them imprisoned in corsets. -Such boots and trousers, such coats and moustaches! Ah! misfortune to -the susceptible maidens of Athens! Their hour is surely come with these -lions abroad.</p> - -<p>And the young ladies! Such chatter and beaming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> smiles, such hats, -high heels, ribbons, laces, veils, powder and perfume! Such miracles -of millinery produced without any regard to cost! Ah, there are two -sides to the picture, my friends, and is it quite so certain that -the lions facing these nymphs will have the best of the encounter? -There are enough uniforms here to convince the sceptical traveller -that he is in a land of heroes. Infantry officers of every rank, in -light blue. Numbers of artillerymen in black with crimson velveteen -collar and cuffs. Yes, there yonder is the glorious Miltiades, linked -with that Phœbus Apollo, Hadji Adam. How the heart gladdens at the -sight, how the nerves shake at the clanking of that terrible sabre -of his, at the rattle of his glittering spurs, and with what cordial -delight do we recognise his military salute and meet the condescension -of his hand-clasp! One singles out the pair instinctively, amid -the multiplicity of uniforms, above the rank and file of mere -marine officers and saucy midshipmen. For, be it known to benighted -foreigners, all male Athens dons a uniform, military or naval. Either -politics or the uniform nothing else counts. Epaulettes or the Bouléor -<i>le néant</i>.</p> - -<p>And the band is playing—is playing with a desperate fervour, befitting -noisy, volatile Athens. The waiters are rushing wildly about with trays -of cognac and vermouth, of ices and coffee, the fragrance of Greek -tobacco fills the air, the chatter of human voices and the shrill cry -of excited children mingle with the soft murmur of the sea, that beats -so gently upon the sand. A charming hour, a charming scene. The sky -as blue as the lucid waters beneath; shifting hues wavering upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> the -sharp mountain sides; the early lights flickering against the trees, -and the sound of happy laughter and speech heard above the band!</p> - -<p>The blessed, foolish, frivolous people, self-intoxicated, needing -nothing but its daily gossip, its leaflets called newspapers, coffee -and cigarettes, the excitement of the half-hourly trains to Phalerum of -a summer evening, the rascalities of its politicians to denounce, along -with the nameless Turk and the faithless Mr. Gladstone, to the strains -of its bad, vivacious music!</p> - -<p>With regret do I ask the reader to stand with me under the shade of the -Grand Hotel, and cast a farewell glance upon the scene. By the last -train from town old acquaintances arrive—a young pair on their wedding -tour. Three years ago we last saw one of them facing the hero of Greece -at an uncomfortable hour of the morning upon uncomfortable business. -Now he is the husband—of whom? Of whom but that elegant young lady of -the great world, Mademoiselle Eméraude Veritassi. They were married -at Rome, where the Baron von Hohenfels is Austrian plenipotentiary, -with Rudolph for one of his <i>attachés</i>. The bride and bridegroom have -taken Athens on their way to St. Petersburg, to which Embassy Rudolph -now belongs. Ehrenstein looks what he is—an aristocrat in faultless -attire, who has lived hard and enjoys the reputation of a strong -attachment to brandy and music. Pale, thin, stern and fastidious, with -an air of quiescent wretchedness. Poor Rudolph! Is this all that his -mutable affections have brought him—indifference and hopelessness? -Photini had died, and he had mourned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> her passionately, not her, -perhaps, but his blighted youth. And when he found Mademoiselle -Veritassi disposed to overlook his shady past for the sake of his -expectations, his wealth, and his fair, handsome face, it did not seem -to him he could do very much better than marry her.</p> - -<p>They walked the beach once, and then returned, and seated themselves a -little above the Grand Hotel, Ehrenstein gloomily facing the sea while -he waited for his cognac; and his bride, in Worth’s latest splendours, -looking landwards, expecting an ice.</p> - -<p>“See, Rudolph, here is my old flame, M. Michaelopoulos, the great -poet,” cried Eméraude, pleasantly excited.</p> - -<p>“Indeed,” said Rudolph, stroking his moustache and indolently shifting -his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Good heavens! Mademoiselle Veritassi! I forgot, a thousand excuses, -Madame Ehrenstein,” exclaimed the popular poet.</p> - -<p>“My dear friend! Sit down and tell us all the news. Rudolph, order some -cognac for M. Michaelopoulos. And now, do tell me everything. What was -said about my marriage?”</p> - -<p>“Athens rejoiced that Austria in you, Madame, should so wisely have -chosen,” said the poet, with a magnificent bow.</p> - -<p>“No, truly? You mock me, sir. Does Austria, I wonder, think that -Greece chose as wisely?” asked the vivacious bride with an arch, -half-malicious glance at her morose husband.</p> - -<p>“Could Austria think otherwise?” the poet replied.</p> - -<p>“If such a humble person as myself may answer for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> Austria, I may -say that no better choice could have been made,” said Rudolph, -sarcastically.</p> - -<p>“My friend, I mean to prove the wisdom of my choice.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph raised his eyebrows in lazy interrogation.</p> - -<p>“At the present you are simply an <i>attaché</i>,” explained his wife. “With -my good help you will become an ambassador. That was why I married you. -I always thought the position of ambassadress would suit me admirably.”</p> - -<p>“So! You flatter me, Madame.”</p> - -<p>“Why not? You surely did not think I was in love with you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I own I had some faint hope you returned my adoration.”</p> - -<p>Eméraude glanced quickly at her husband, and smiled, a strange, hard -little smile. Lying back with half-shut eyes, she said to the poet:</p> - -<p>“It is evident that my husband is on his wedding tour, judging by the -pretty things he says.”</p> - -<p>“I shall doubtless reach perfection in that art under your amiable -tuition,” retorted the bridegroom, as he turned to inspect the crowd.</p> - -<p>“They certainly don’t give the unblest any reason to envy their -happiness,” mused the poet. “Who would have thought that such a gentle, -girlish boy would turn into a bitter and cynical rake?”</p> - -<p>Some friends of Eméraude bore down upon her, and after a torrent of -congratulation, haughtily received by Rudolph, the latter rose and -took the poet’s arm. They walked past the hotel, and a dark flush -spread like a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> flame over Rudolph’s face when he recognised the gallant -Captain of the Artillery.</p> - -<p>“The sister is here, too,” said the poet, not troubled with any -hesitation or sensitiveness to the delicacy of the subject.</p> - -<p>“Indeed,” said Rudolph, very softly.</p> - -<p>He did not resent the liberty; he felt an aching desire to hear -something of her—hear that she was well and happy.</p> - -<p>“She is married,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and grown so stout. There’s a baby with them. There they are.”</p> - -<p>Rudolph started, and the hand on the poet’s arm trembled violently.</p> - -<p>Agiropoulos and Andromache were coming towards him. Agiropoulos was on -the side of the sea, fat, contented, floridly attired, with a flower -in his buttonhole and a gold-rimmed glass in his eye. The departing -sunshine shone from the west full upon Andromache’s face. It had lost -all the pretty appeal of youth. A handsome enough profile, dull, -well-filled, with dark blue eyes looking out of a forest of curled -fringe, upon which a much too fashionable bonnet reposed. Rudolph was -startled and disappointed to find his old love the mere expression -of commonplace, domestic content. Yes, she looked as if she did not -greatly mourn him, and remembering his wife’s elegance and social -charm, he recognised he had done better than marry Andromache. But good -heavens! how pretty and sweet she had been in those old days when his -heart was so fresh and his days so innocent! He saw again the little -salon overlooking the Gardens of the French School, with all its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> -trivial details accurately fixed upon his memory, and two foolish young -creatures so desperately afraid of each other, when first confronted -with a love scene. What a charming idyll! and how evanescent and -unseizable its fragrance floated out of the past!</p> - -<p>Andromache was the first to see him. She did not start, but turned -pale to the lips, and looked at him steadily while her fingers closed -convulsively upon her red parasol. Agiropoulos brought his quick, sharp -gaze to bear upon Ehrenstein, who at once lifted his hat. But his -salute was not returned by husband or wife, Andromache stared straight -before her, and Agiropoulos smiled insolently as he passed.</p> - -<p>Rudolph gazed across the sea with twitching lips. The cut hurt him more -than he dared allow to himself. He was gentleman enough to feel ashamed -that he deserved it, but was unaccountably angry with Andromache for -not having learned to forgive him.</p> - -<p>“Let us go back to Madame,” he said, quietly.</p> - -<p>“Have you had enough of Phalerum, Eméraude?” he asked, in reply to the -silent question of his wife’s look.</p> - -<p>“You discontented fellow! We have only just come.”</p> - -<p>“And how long are we to remain?”</p> - -<p>“There, I see you are upset, and, as I can’t expect to make you an -ambassador if I don’t humour you a little, I’ll take you back to Athens -at once,” said Eméraude, rising good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>Rudolph flashed her a look of boyish gratitude, and pressed her hand -as he helped her into the train. He was a little boisterous and -intractable on his way to town,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> laughed and talked wildly and, when -they got into a carriage at Athens to drive to the Hôtel de la Grande -Bretagne, a reaction came, and he sat back, the picture of moody -discontent. Verily, Mademoiselle Veritassi has not chosen an easy life, -but we can see that she understands her task, and that, in spite of -ill-tempers and storms, the whip-hand will be hers.</p> - -<p>Turning the corner of Hermes Street, Rudolph’s unhappy glance fell -upon another picture, and one that struck a heavier blow upon his -bruised heart. Two persons on a balcony of the Hôtel d’Angleterre, -which faces Constitution Square, opposite the Palace, were enjoying -the sunset, and the soft, departing daylight. A man was leaning with -his back to the railing, smoking and looking down upon a seated woman -in front of him. Rudolph’s pulses stood still. It was impossible not -to recognise the owner of the supple brown hand that grasped the edge -of the railing, and upon a slight movement of the smoker, who seemed -to be speaking with playful earnestness to his companion, Rudolph saw -Reineke’s delicate, clear profile. A hungry pain sprang into Rudolph’s -eyes as he sat forward, and looked back through the railings, while the -carriage drove across the Square. He saw Inarime distinctly, with her -eyes lifted to her husband, and a happy smile stirring her grave lips. -And as he watched, Reineke went over and sat beside her.</p> - -<p>The carriage stopped in front of the Hôtel de la Grande Bretagne, -and Rudolph helped his wife out. Instead of following her in, he -hurried down the path to stare again at the rival hotel. Inarime now -was standing with her hand upon Gustav’s shoulder, and the spectator -might divine that the husband was protesting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> laughingly against some -decision of hers. Then with her tender, grave smile she passed from him -and went inside. Gustav remained seated on the balcony, smoking.</p> - -<p>“They are not contented—they are happy,” said Rudolph, as he turned to -join his wife. “Nobody is miserable but myself. Photini is dead, and -I’m alive. I don’t know that it is I who have the best of it, either. -She was right. She told me from the first I never should be happy. -Andromache! Inarime! and poor Photini! I wonder why I have missed the -gladness of life. It seems to exist, and some people catch it. I am -only twenty-five. Heaven help me, what shall I be ten years hence, when -I feel so bitter on my wedding tour?”</p> - -<p>He knocked at his wife’s door, and entering, threw himself on a sofa.</p> - -<p>“How long do you propose staying in this wretched hole?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“A week or so,” said his wife, surprised. “Why?”</p> - -<p>“I want to know what I am expected to do with myself.”</p> - -<p>“Look after me, of course, and dance attendance on me,” laughed his -wife.</p> - -<p class="center space-above">THE END.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAUGHTERS OF MEN ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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