Even Rudolph could not resist a ghastly smile at hearing his name so curiously pronounced by the warrior. Miltiades stood upon the threshold, and the baroness could not have looked more petrified if she had found herself confronted by an open cannon.
“Madame,” said Miltiades, ever the pink of courtesy, as the brave should be to the fair; after his most ceremonious military salute, he advanced a step, and said, “I have a few words to say to your nephew, Monsieur Rudolph Ehrenstein.”
“Enter, enter, I pray you, Captain Karapolos,” said the baroness in rather halting but intelligible Greek. “My nephew is ill—as you see. Perhaps you will consent to spare him the unpleasantness of a scene. He is very ill.”
“So, madame, is my sister. Dr. Galenides tells me she will hardly recover. Is this to be borne quietly—think you?”
“Kyrie Selaka, explain to him—I do not know Greek well enough. Tell him how grieved, how miserably sad the baron and I are about this business. Speak kindly for us and try to soothe him. I understand he must be in a desperate state, and heaven knows how sincerely I pity him. Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph, when will you young men learn to think of others as well as yourselves?” she cried, distractedly.
“Captain Karapolos, this proceeding of yours is surely as unseemly as it is futile,” said Selaka. “What good do you expect can come of such a step? It will not restore your sister to health and happiness, and you but needlessly inflict pain upon this lady, who is sincerely distressed for you. My dear sir, the great lesson of life is, that the inevitable must be accepted. We cannot go back on our good deeds or our ill, and it is not now in the power of this young man to repair the mischief he has done. The consequences of wrongdoing cannot be shirked by those who suffer them, or by those who have done the wrong. They baffle each step of flight and struggle, and hunt us down remorselessly.”
“My dear sir, such stuff may suit a pulpit or a university chair, but it offends the ear of a soldier. I care not a jot for the inevitable, and, as far as I am concerned, this young man will answer to me for his evil deeds—to me, sir, Miltiades Karapolos, captain of King George’s Artillery,” shouted Miltiades, slapping his chest emphatically.
Rudolph sat up in bed, and asked feebly:
“Did he say, Herr Selaka, that Andromache is very ill?”