“Panaghia mou!” cried Kyria Karapolos, with a look of unutterable astonishment at an announcement hourly expected.
“He says his uncle will not object, and cannot practically interfere,” Miltiades explained.
“And that he is rich enough to dispense with a dowry,” added Themistocles, thereby bringing upon himself a lightning-flame of contempt from the hero of Greece.
“Panaghia mou! But I am rejoiced. My dear Monsieur Ehrenstein, you are charming. I am happy to give you Andromache. Oh, but this is a blessed moment for me!” and with that she rose, and emphatically embraced poor Rudolph, whom the ordeal rendered giddy and awkward. This was the signal for general demonstrations of affection. Miltiades shook hands, and kissed the cheeks of his future brother-in-law, and little Themistocles did likewise.
“Order coffee and liqueur, mother,” said Miltiades.
“You are very amiable,” Rudolph said, gratefully, disturbed by the trouble of the moment. “I am sure it will be my pride and happiness to deserve your good-will in the future.”
Kyria Karapolos returned with Andromache, and announced that the refreshments of jubilation would shortly appear.
“Andromache, behold your husband,” exclaimed Miltiades, with a slightly theatrical flourish.
Whereupon little Themistocles sighed profoundly, and retreated to his own chamber to vex the sunset with strains of his asthmatic violin, to muse upon his misery and think of the young lady in the next street. With a significant nod, Captain Miltiades marched away to imaginary glory, and Kyria Karapolos, in a kindly impulse, found a pretext for a short absence in the necessity for Julia’s presence.
How frightened and shy two confiding young people can be when first confronted with the horrors of a tête-à-tête.