But how to unbosom oneself to a desired brother-in-law without a common tongue? His Greek was even more limited than the other’s French, and of German the gallant Captain’s knowledge was restricted to the convivial “Trinken Sie Wein,” and “Hoch.” But despite the difficulties in the way of conversation, the young men were delighted to be together.
Miltiades chattered Greek, and looked eager inquiry at Rudolph who nodded significantly, and was as voluble and communicative in French.
What they said neither knew, but a gleam of intelligence broke the not unpleasant darkness occasionally for Miltiades, in such pregnant words as “votre sœur,” “j’aime,” and “épouser.”
“He wants to marry Andromache,” thought Miltiades, drawing himself up, and looking very grave and responsible. “It would be a splendid match for her, but his uncle will never consent to it. However, I’ll give conditional consent.”
“Vous,—épouser ma sœur, Andromache?” he said slowly, as he faced Rudolph with the heaviest air of guardian.
“Justement, Monsieur. Je le désire de tout mon cœur,” cried Rudolph, flaming suddenly.
“Ah,” said Miltiades, pausing, and holding the suitor poised on the wing of awful suspense. “Votre oncle?”
Here Rudolph broke out into vehement protestations regarding which not one word did Miltiades understand. They turned up one of the openings off Stadion Street that led direct to the Lycabettus, and here they met little Themistocles, as fresh and dapper and dainty as if he were ready for exhibition on a toy counter.
Miltiades collared him forcibly, and explained the extremity of his need. Charmed by the possession of this sole superiority over the warrior, which his fluent French gave him, little Themistocles lifted his hat, and twirling his cane with an air of graceful ease, placed his services as interpreter at the disposal of Monsieur Ehrenstein.