Aux mētopes du Parthenon,’”
quoted the Rector genially. “Do you know Gautier’s charming poem? I wish I could go with you to see the land of Aristophanes.”
“Why not come?”
“Nay, I am too old a tree to be transplanted. The comedies alone must take me on the wings of fancy to Athens. What would my parishioners do without me? or my roses, for the matter of that? Still, I would like to be your travelling companion, and we could visit together those places which we read of in your days of pupilage. You will see Colonos, where the Sophoclean nightingales still sing; and the Acropolis of Athena Glaucopis, the ringing plains of windy Troy, and the birthplace of the Delian Apollo. Truly the youth of to-day are to be envied, seeing how easy travel has been made by steam. Happy Maurice! the Iron Age will enable you to view the Golden Age with but small difficulty.”
“Yes, I will be delighted to see all those famous places you have mentioned, sir; but I have a stronger reason.”
“Indeed! And that reason?”
“Is this.”
Maurice placed the portrait of Helena in the hands of his old tutor, and awaited in silence his next remark. Mr. Carriston adjusted his pince-nez, and gazed long and earnestly at the perfect beauty of the woman’s countenance.
“‘Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?’” he quoted from Marlowe; “upon my word, I would not be surprised to hear it was. A beautiful woman, Maurice; she has the loveliness of the Argive Helen.”
“And the name also; she is called Helena.”