Before the meal was over, Danaë became aware that the number of the spectators was increased. Prince and Princess Theophanis had come in quietly, and were watching the children as they ate.
“Not a bad little chap, is he?” said Maurice at last.
His wife shrugged her shoulders. “Not a bad-looking child, certainly. But no look of race about him.”
Danaë understood the tone, if not the words, and bristled angrily in Janni’s defence. But the Prince was speaking again. “You wouldn’t like us to take charge of him, I suppose, Eirene, as Zoe and Wylie have their own?”
“Maurice!” She turned upon him with poignant reproach. “To take Constantine’s place?”
“No, nonsense! No one could ever take Con’s place. But I thought it might be an interest for you, to have a child about the house.”
“What interest could there be for me in any ordinary child like that? He would not be a descendant of John Theophanis.”
The name caught Danaë’s attention, and she looked up so sharply that Wylie noticed it. “What do you know of John Theophanis, Kalliopé?” he asked her in Greek.
“He was the great Roman Emperor, lord, the blessed martyr from whom the Lord Romanos is descended,” she replied. Princess Theophanis turned quickly.
“The Lord Romanos!” she cried. “Girl, that upstart can only trace his descent from the Emperor’s daughter. Here in this room are the true descendants of John Theophanis, my husband and his sister descended from his elder son, I from the younger. And this child—” her voice grew harsh—“is the sole representative of the line in his generation. Do you understand? Tell me what I have said.”