“You told me not of stipulations,” muttered Peregrine very weary.
“’Tis but an ancient custom, man. There’s no ill in the glass. Drink it, and cry to Thaïs. ’Twill put new strength into you.”
Thus urged Peregrine took the glass. “To Thaïs!” he said, and sipped the wine. Very sweet to the palate it ran warm down his throat. “The divine Thaïs!” he cried laughing, remembering the toast he had heard. He drank the remainder at a draught, flung the glass to the floor. “Ah!” he said. “It puts new life in a man. Your name?” he asked on a sudden of the other.
“They call me Phrixus,” came the answer, “since as a child I escaped from my stepmother, a very sharp-tongued woman. Truly ’twas by the skin of my teeth I did so, and on no golden-fleeced ram neither. Phrixus I have been since, and still am. May I ask a name for a name?”
“Peregrine, at your service. A fool as I dare swear myself. A wanderer as you have perceived.”
“A lucky wanderer,” quoth the other, and took him by the arm. Very gently he propelled him towards the great hall.
Pausing a moment on the threshhold Peregrine looked around. The hall was a riot of colour, a very feast for the sight. A huge place it was; the centre a great domed arch, golden and set on four columns of black marble. The walls were hung with tapestries orange and yellow, bordered with blue and purple most deftly intermingled. So remote were the tapestries that the figures at the table appeared backgrounded against sunlight above deep waters. Around were marble statues, works of the world in the morning of time. Here was Hebe young and slender; Mercury wing-footed; Atalanta poised swift to run; Faunus half man half goat; Bacchus vine-wreathed; Apollo, Athene, Venus,—all were there wrought of voluptuous fancy. Here and there gleamed silver nymphs and dryads, flashing to seeming life in the red light of the fire which blazed at the further end of the great hall. Green marble made the floor, spread with rugs an harmonious blend of colour. Beneath the golden dome was set the board, and here was movement, life, and laughter.
As Peregrine stood in the doorway with Phrixus beside him, those opposite it looked up and saw him, the others turned.
“Welcome the new-comer!” The cry rang through the hall, losing itself in echoes in the golden dome. None could mistake the genuine ring of it. Peregrine was led forward; kneeling he kissed the hand Thaïs gave him.
“We bid you welcome, Sir,” she said very graciously. And she gave him a place on her right.