V.
Poor Mr. Plateas was waiting for his friend impatiently.
On reaching home he had found his dinner growing cold, and Florou worrying over her master's unusual tardiness; it was full twenty minutes after noon! Although the professor was hungry and ate with relish, his mind was ill at ease. He yearned to talk to some one, but there was no one to talk to. He would have been glad to tell his story even to Florou, but she cared neither to talk nor to listen; conversation was not her strong point.
Besides, her master rather shrank from telling her that he had made up his mind to get married, and that her reign was over. Since his mother's death, Florou had had absolute control over the household; why make her unhappy before it was necessary? On the other hand, he could contain himself no longer; if he had not spoken, there is no telling what would have happened.
Not daring to face the question boldly, he beat about the bush, and tried to pass adroitly from the subject of dinner to that of marriage.
"Florou," he said, "your meat is overdone."
The old woman made no reply, but looked up at the sun as if to suggest that the fault lay not with her, but with her master's tardiness.
He paid no attention to her mute reproach.
"In fact," he went on, "the dinner isn't fit to eat to-day."
"You've eaten it, though."
Florou was in the habit of resorting to this argument as unanswerable. Usually her master laughed and said that he had eaten his dinner because he was hungry, and not because it was good. To-day, however, her phrase irritated him, less on account of the words themselves, than from an inward consciousness that this day of all others he had no right to complain of her culinary art.
In his vexation he forgot how he had planned to lead up to the subject of his marriage, and had to finish his dinner in silence; but while Florou was carrying the dishes away, he thought of a new pretext for coming back to the absorbing topic. He noticed for the first time a hole in the tablecloth that had been there a long time.
"See there!" said he, putting his finger through it. "My house needs a mistress,—there's no other remedy for such a state of things. I must have a wife!"
Florou shrugged her shoulders as though she thought her master had lost his wits.
"Do you understand me? I must get married."
The old woman smiled.
"What are you laughing at? I have quite made up my mind to marry."
Florou stared.
"I'm going to get married, I tell you!"
"And who'll have you?"
"Who will have me!" he cried, fairly choking with rage.
Almost beside himself at the old woman's effrontery, he wanted to crush her with angry eloquence; but her stolidity baffled him, and he went up to his room without a word. When he was alone, his anger soon cooled; but he found himself repeating those cruel words, and as he said them over, he began to fear that Florou was not so far wrong.
He recalled his friend's first disavowal of any thought of him as a suitor, and the father's strange hesitation. And then, why didn't Liakos come; what was keeping him so long? If his mission was successful, he would have brought the news at once. The question was very simple, the answer "yes" or "no"; it surely must be "no," and the judge was keeping back the evil tidings.
How silly he had been to expose himself to a rebuff on the impulse of the moment—what perfect folly! What business had he to get into such a scrape? But no, he had only done his duty; he had proved to his preserver the sincerity of his friendship and the depth of his gratitude. But why didn't Liakos come? Why didn't he hurry back and end this suspense?
The unhappy man looked at his watch again and again, and was astonished each time at the slowness of the hands; they seemed hardly to move at all. He sat down, then jumped up again and looked out of the window,—no Liakos! He tried to read, but could not keep his thoughts from straying, and shut the book petulantly. He was in a perfect fever.
Meanwhile the time came for his daily constitutional, and Mr. Plateas was on thorns. He could not stay indoors waiting for his friend any longer; but in order to be near at hand, he resolved to take his old walk and go no farther than the Vaporia. So he called Florou and told her that he would not be gone long, but that if Mr. Liakos should come, she must send him to the Vaporia. He explained with great care the route he would take in going and in coming back, so that Florou might tell his friend exactly. All this was quite unnecessary, for the road to the Vaporia was so direct that the two friends could hardly help meeting unless they went out of their way to avoid each other; but he insisted upon his topographical directions, and repeated them so often that Florou at last lost her patience, and exclaimed:
"Very well, very well!"
It was most unusual for the old woman to say the same word twice.
Not a living soul was to be seen on the Vaporia, and Mr. Plateas was able to follow the course of his thoughts undisturbed. To tell the truth, his ideas rather lacked sequence, and were much the same thing over and over; but they were so engrossing that he had not quoted a line of Homer all day. If this worry had lasted much longer, it would have effected what all his exercise and sea-bathing had failed to accomplish; the poor man would certainly have been reduced to a shadow.
And still Liakos did not come! For a moment the professor thought of going to look for his friend; bat where should he go? The judge had promised to come, and Florou had been told to get supper for both; Liakos MUST come.
But why didn't he come now? Mr. Plateas paced up and down the Vaporia twenty times at least, and although he kept looking toward his house, there was no sign of the judge. At last! At last he saw his friend coming in the distance.
"Well, is it 'yes' or 'no'?" he cried, as soon as he was near enough to be heard.
"Do let me get my breath first."
From the expression of the poor man's face Mr. Liakos feared that "no" would be more welcome than "yes."
"Can he have repented?" thought the judge; then, taking Mr. Plateas affectionately by the arm, he turned back to prolong the walk, and tried to soothe his friend's amour propre.
"Don't be troubled; she's not a silly girl, but has good sense and good judgment. She will treat your offer as an honor, and will be happy to have a man like you for a husband."
"Never mind about that," said the professor, in a calmer tone. "Tell me how the matter really stands. What have you been doing all this time?"
In relating his story, Mr. Liakos did not tell his friend everything. He passed over the stiffness of Mr. Mitrophanis as well as his cousin's unseemly mirth, and urged so skillfully the need of her good offices as to disarm all objection; he had left the affair in his cousin's charge, and secured her promise to send him word of the result at the professor's house. This was the substance of the conversation; but Mr. Plateas asked so many questions and the judge had to repeat each detail so often, that the sun was setting when the two friends went back to do justice to Florou's supper.
They had scarcely finished when there was a knock at the door, and
Florou came in with a note for Mr. Liakos.
Mr. Plateas rose, napkin in hand, and leaned over his friend's chair, eagerly following the words as the judge read aloud:
"MY DEAR COUSIN,—Bring your friend to my house this evening; the young lady will be there. Come early. YOUR COUSIN."
"What did I tell you!" cried Mr. Liakos, joyfully. "Come, you must get ready."
Mr. Plateas looked very serious; the idea of meeting the young girl made him nervous. What should he say to her? How should he behave? Besides, he was not yet sure of being accepted! Why hadn't the message been a plain "yes" or "no"? The judge had difficulty in persuading Mr. Plateas that the invitation was in itself an assurance of success, and that his cousin and he would do their best to lessen the embarrassment of the meeting. Taking upon himself the duties of valet, Mr. Liakos superintended the poor man's toilet, and having made him look as fine as possible, marched him off.
He would have given almost anything to be well out of the scrape, but it was too late to retreat now.
As they went along, the judge tried in vain to impart some of his own high spirits to his faint-hearted friend. He was brimming over with gladness at the thought of his marriage, which now seemed assured. After so long a separation he was about to see his betrothed, for he felt sore that she would come with her sister. Mr. Plateas had no such reasons for rejoicing. He walked on in silence, paying little heed to his friend's gay sallies; he was trying to think what he should say to the young lady, but nothing came to him.
"By the way," he broke in suddenly, "what is her name?"
"Whose?"
"I mean my future wife. Yesterday I had to let her father see that I didn't even know her name. I mustn't make that mistake to-night!"
At this Mr. Liakos broke into a merry laugh; he was in such high good-humor that he found fun in everything. His companion did not laugh, but repeated:
"What is her name?"
The judge was about to reply when he heard some one coming toward them call out in the darkness:
"Liakos, is that you?"
It was his cousin's husband, who brought word that he was not to be present at the interview. The tactful cousin had felt that it would be better to leave the young lady alone with her suitor; then, too, the younger sister would not come, and the presence of Mr. Liakos was quite unnecessary; her instructions were that he should spend the evening with her husband at the club.
Mr. Plateas felt his knees give way under him. What—go in and face the two ladies all alone! No, decidedly he hadn't the courage for that. But his supporters, one on either side, urged and encouraged the unhappy man until they reached the threshold, when the door opened and they pushed him in, regardless of his protests, then closed it again, and went off to the club.
When Mr. Liakos learned that his sweetheart was not coming, he submitted to his banishment with stoicism; but it seemed to him that the evening at the club would never come to an end. About ten o'clock a servant came to say that Mr. Plateas was waiting for him; he rushed downstairs and found his friend in the street. By the light of a street lamp the judge saw at once from the expression of the suitor's face that the visit had been a complete success. The professor looked like another man.
"Well?" asked Mr. Liakos, eagerly.
"I tell you, she isn't plain at all!" exclaimed Mr. Plateas. "When she speaks her voice is like music, and she has a charming expression! As for her little hand,—it's simply exquisite!"
"You kissed it, I suppose?" said the judge.
"Of course I did!"
"What did you say, and what did she say to you?"
"As though I could tell you everything! The idea!" Then lowering his voice, he added: "Do you know what she said to me? She told me she was glad and grateful that I had asked her to marry me through friendship for you, because such a good friend must make a good husband. I begged her not to say that, else I could not help thinking that she accepted me only out of love for her sister.
"'And why not?' she said gently. 'What sweeter source could the happiness of our future have?'"
Mr. Liakos was touched.
"But really," his friend went on, "I can't begin to tell you everything now. One thing is certain,—I've found a perfect treasure!"
"Did I not tell you so?"
"Yes, but you haven't told me her name, and I didn't dare ask her. What is it?"
The judge bent over and whispered the name that his friend longed to hear.
"There, you know it now."
"Yes, at last!" and the two friends parted,—the one went home with a new joy in his heart, saying over the name he had just learned, while the other softly repeated the name so long dear to him.
A few weeks later, the first Sunday after Easter there was a high festival in the old merchant's house to celebrate the marriage of his two daughters. Of the bridegrooms, Mr. Liakos was not the merrier, for now that his dearest hopes were realized, his soul was filled with a quiet happiness that left no room for words. Mr. Plateas, on the other hand, was overflowing with delight, and his spirits seemed contagious, for all the wedding guests laughed with him. Even His Eminence the Archbishop of Tenos and Syra, who had blessed the double marriage, was jovial with the rest, and showed his learning by wishing the happy couples joy in a line from Homer:
[Greek Text] "Thine own wish may the Gods give thee in every place."
To which Mr. Plateas replied majestically:
[Greek Text] "The best omen is to battle for one's native land!"
After the wedding, the judge obtained three months' leave, and took his bride for a visit to his old home among his kinsfolk.
How eagerly their return was awaited, and how delighted the sisters were to be together again! The old father trembled with joy.
When the two brothers-in-law were alone, each saw his own happiness reflected in the other's face.
"Well, did I exaggerate when I sang your wife's praises?" asked Mr.
Liakos.
"She's a treasure, my dear friend!" cried Mr. Plateas,—"a perfect treasure! In a few months," he went on, "I shall have a new favor to ask of you. I want you to stand as godfather to your nephew."
"What! You too!"
"And you?"