bats around her roof-tops, and the high-soaring sky that arches
all--mysterious and deep. Then the voice sank low, and rang and held
the note--stern, splendid--Athens of might. City of Power! Glory, in
changing word, and in the lift of eye. Athens on her hills, like great
Jove enthroned--the shout, the triumph, the clash of steel, and the feet
of Alaric in the streets. The voice of the Greek grew hoarse now, tiny
cords swelled on his forehead. Athens, city of war. Desolation, fire,
and trampling--! His eye was drawn in light. Vandal hand and iron
foot!...

Who shall say how much of it he told--how much of it he spoke, and how
much was only hinted or called up--in his voice and his gesture and his
eye. They had not known that Athens was like this! They spoke in lowered
voices, moving apart a little, and making place for the silver trays
that began to pass among them. They glanced now and then at the dark man
nibbling his biscuit absently and looking with unfathomable eyes into a
teacup.

A large woman approached him, her ample bust covered with little beads
that rose and fell and twinkled as she talked. "I liked your talk, Mr.
Alexis, and I am going over just as soon as my husband can get away from
his business." She looked at him with approval, waiting for his.

He bowed with deep, grave gesture. "My country is honoured, madame."

Other listeners were crowding upon them now, commending the fire-tipped
words, felicitating the man with pretty gesture and soft speech,
patronising him for the Parthenon and his country and her art. ... The
mistress of the house, moving in and out among them, watched the play
with a little look of annoyance.... He would be spoiled--a man of that