would be a grave indiscretion to impart the secret to a third person
without his friend's consent, and he felt too that it would be very weak
in him not to perform loyally the duty that he had undertaken. Forward,
then! Courage!

So Mr. Liakos started for the office of his sweetheart's father,
although not without inward trepidation.

It so happened that Mr. Mitrophanis was just receiving a consignment of
coffee from the Custom House; carts were coming up one after another,
porters were carrying the sacks into the warehouse, and the judge had
difficulty in making his way to the door.

It was a huge square building, with a room on the street partitioned off
at one corner. This room was the office, and had a grated window; but
the light from it and from the street door was too dim for Mr. Liakos to
see what was going on inside the warehouse. As he stood there on the
threshold, he saw that his arrival was ill-timed; for there was a
dispute in progress. Although he did not understand, or even try to
understand what it was all about, he heard hot words bandied back and
forth, and above them he could distinguish the merchant's voice, loud
and masterful.

The judge stopped in surprise. He had heard of the old gentleman's
temper, but had not imagined that anger could raise to such a pitch a
voice usually so calm and dignified. He was alarmed and was trying to
slip away unseen, when Mr. Mitrophanis interrupted the discussion and
called out to him from the depths of the warehouse:

"What do you wish, Mr. Liakos?"