“Have I been a good friend to you, Dmitri?” he asked.
“Why, yes. Always. You and Madelein have always been my best friends.”
“Well, then, tell me what you are going to do. Why do you hand me your money? Why do you speak of only the husk of you remaining? What is the meaning of your advertisements in the newspapers?”
Dmitri smiled.
“Do not be anxious about me, Jacques,” he entreated; “no harm will come to me—only a great good. The most wonderful thing that can happen to anybody is about to happen to me.”
And Jacques’ further persuasion had no power to make Dmitri speak.
As Dmitri, clad in his purple robe, walked through the streets of Salonika on the evening appointed for his meeting outside the Citadel, he was followed by a large crowd of friendly people; indeed, he walked in the midst of the crowd, talking as he went. He bore himself regally, and his face shone with joy.
He had only a mere handful of disciples, but there were very many, both rich and poor, who liked him, and there were still more who were driven by curiosity to that high ground outside the city walls, which looks towards the jagged mountains above Hortiach.
Having arrived at the place he had selected for the delivery of his Message, his disciples went among the assembled people, directing them where to sit. Men and women, to the number of nearly a thousand, seated themselves in a semicircle on the higher slopes of the hill; on the hill’s summit stood Dmitri, looking down upon the faces lit by the sun in its setting.
Bareheaded, he stood and raised both arms for silence. The eager speech of his beholders died suddenly. Dmitri stood for a long minute without a word: then, just when the silence was becoming uncomfortable, he spoke in his golden voice.