“Ye gods! Is not the ground of archæology even to be neutral?” thundered Selaka. “Must politics here be thrust upon us, and have us by the ears in a fret of jarring and wrangling? It is not a question of marriage. If civility did not suggest it, policy ought to teach them to take what Germany, with her science and perseverance has to offer them, and be thankful for the gift. Let them sulk, and it will do nobody any harm but themselves.”
“The French minister’s nephew, a very charming young fellow, has sent an unofficial letter of apology on his own behalf. He was invited because of a couple of interesting and graceful articles he wrote for the Revue des deux Mondes. It is known that he received orders to stay away.”
It was an imposing assembly. The nations of the civilised world were represented by their Embassies and schools, all except sulking France. The blooming half of humanity was present in a dozen or so of choice souls, to deck the scene with their flowery robes and bright hues. The loud murmur of mingled tongues was stopped by Herr Julius Dünckler stepping forward to open the proceedings formally by a neat little speech announcing that the paper of the day would be read by his very youthful but learned colleague, Herr Gustav Reineke. The theme was the everlasting Theatre, a theme happily not exhausted, and matter still for research. Herr Reineke had visited every spot of ground that could be of use to him in the patient analysis of his subject, and his views were so forcibly put forward, his erudition was so minute and vast at the same time, that it seemed to him, the director of the German School of Archæology, that it would be a pleasure and a gain for other workers like himself in that wide field, to assemble and amicably discuss Herr Reineke’s paper. The paper, he stated, was translated into English and French for those present who could not understand German.
Upon invitation, Gustav took his place upon the platform and the ladies at least were unanimous in their admiration of his handsome and distinguished presence.
“He looks a scholar and a gentleman to boot,” murmured Mrs. Mowbray-Thomas.
His voice was grave and musically measured, with an Oriental soft sonorousness which captivated his hearers. His face was impassive in its noble earnestness, its strength toned by delicate beauty, lit with the fine glow of intellect. When he came to the end of his reading, he bowed in acknowledgment of the applause that greeted it, and, stepping backward, his eyes sought Selaka through the crowd. He was quick to detect the flame of affectionate pride that involuntarily leaped into the old man’s answering look, and a chill from excessive hope ran through his members in a visible shudder.
He beat his way through congratulating strangers till he stood beside Selaka’s chair.
“Your hand?” he said, under his breath, extending his own tentatively, and, seeing it grasped, added, with an ingratiating smile: “It is not withheld.”
“And wherefore? I am proud of you, proud for you, honoured by the distinction,” Selaka answered, huskily, while he followed the crowd towards the door.
“Ah, sir, it is a barren pride for you and me,” said Gustav, keeping close to his side.