'She always talks in that way,' he said. 'She thinks I can do anything, but as a matter of fact I have no influence to speak of, and money has nothing to do with an artist's success. I shall certainly be there on your first night, and you will not object to my splitting my gloves in applauding you?'
'Oh no!' Margaret laughed, too. 'You are welcome to do that! There is a cab.'
She held up her parasol to attract the driver's attention, and Logotheti made a few steps forward and called him.
'Where shall I tell the man to take you?' Logotheti asked, as she got in.
'To the Saint Lazare station, please. Thank you very much!'
She smiled pleasantly and nodded as she drove away. He stood still a moment on the pavement, looking after her, and then turned in the opposite direction, lighting a cigarette as he walked.
He was a Greek, and an educated one, and as he sauntered along on the shady side of the Avenue Hoche, the cigarette twitched oddly in his mouth, as if he were talking to himself. From four and twenty centuries away, in the most modern city of the world, broken lines of an ode of Anacreon came ringing to his ears, and his lips formed the words noiselessly:
'I wish I were the zone that lies
Warm to thy breast, and feels its sighs ...
Oh, anything that touches thee!