The bowed heads were lifted. The child sprang to her feet. “Mother-dear! It is my friend! He has come!” The words sang.
Mrs. Philip Harris held out a gracious hand. She had not intended to offer her hand. She had intended to be distant and kind. But when the man looked up she somehow forgot. She held out the hand with a quick smile.
The Greek was on his feet, bending above it. “It is an honour, madame—that you come.”
“I have come to ask a favour,” she replied, slowly, her eyes travelling over the well-brushed clothes, the clean linen2, the slender feet of the man. Favour was not what she had meant to say—privilege was nearer it. But there was something about him. Her voice grew suave3 to match the words.
“My daughter has told me of you—” Her hand rested lightly on the child’s curls—a safe, unrumpled touch. “Her visit to you has enchanted4 her. She speaks of it every day, of the Parthenon and what you told her.”
The eyes of the man and the child met gravely.
“I wondered whether you would be willing to tell some friends of mine—here—now—”
He had turned to her—a swift look.
She replied with a smile. “Nothing formal—just simple things, such as you told the child. We should be very grateful to you,” she added, as if she were a little surprised at herself.
He looked at her with clear eyes. “I speak—yes—I like always—to speak of my country. I thank you.”
The child, standing5 by with eager feet, moved lightly. Her hands danced in softest pats. “You will tell them about it—just as you told me—and they will love it!”
“I tell them—yes!”
“Come, Miss Stone.” The child held out her hand with a little gesture of pride and loving. “We must go now. Good-bye, Mr. Achilles. You will come again, please.”
“I come,” said Achilles, simply. He watched the quaint6 figure pass down the long rooms beside the shimmering7 grey dress, through an arched doorway at the end, and out of sight. Then he turned to his hostess with the quick smile of his race. “She is beautiful, madame,” he said, slowly. “She is a child!”
The mother assented9, absently. She was not thinking of the child, but of the fifty members of the Halcyon11 Club in the library. “Will you come?” she said. “My friends are waiting.”
She smiled a little. “Yes, you give pleasure.” She was somehow at ease about the man. He was poor—illiterate, perhaps, but not uncouth12. She glanced at him with a little look of approval as they went up the staircase. It came to her suddenly that he harmonised with it, and with all the beautiful things about them. The figure of Professor Trent flashed upon her—short and fat and puffing13, and yearning14 toward the top of the stair. But this man. There was the grand air about him—and yet so simple.
It was almost with a sense of eclat15 that she ushered16 him into the library. The air stirred subtly, with a little hush17. The president was on her feet, introducing Mr. Achilles Alexandrakis, who, in the unavoidable absence of Professor Trent, had kindly18 consented to speak to them on the traditions and customs of modern Greek life.
Achilles’s eyes fell gently on the lifted faces. “I like to tell you about my home,” he said, simply. “I tell you all I can.”
The look of strain in the faces relaxed. It was going to be an easy lecture—one that you could know something about. They settled to soft attention and approval.
Achilles waited a minute—looking at them with deep eyes. And suddenly they saw that the eyes were not looking at them, but at something far away—something beautiful and loved.
It is safe to say that the members of the Halcyon Club had never listened to anything quite like the account that Achilles Alexandrakis gave them that day, in the gloomy room of the red-fronted house overlooking the lake, of the land of his birth. They scarcely listened to the actual words at first, but they listened to him all lighted up from far away. There was something about him as he spoke19—a sweeping20 rhythm that flew as a bird, reaching over great spaces, and a simple joy that lilted a little and sang.
He drew for them the Parthenon—the glory of Athens—in column and statue and mighty21 temple and crumbling22 tomb.... A sense of beauty and wonder and still, clear light passed before them.
Then he paused... his voice laughed a little, and he spoke of his people.... Nobody could have quite told what he said to them about his people. But flutes23 sang. The sound of feet was on the grass—touching it in tune—swift-flitting feet that paused and held a rhythmic24 measure while it swung. Quick-beating feet across the green. Shadowy forms. The sway of gowns, light-falling, and the call of voices low and sweet. Greek youth and maid in swiftest play. They flung the branches wide and trembled in the voiceless light that played upon the grass. The foot of Achilles half-beat the time. The tones filled themselves and lifted, slowly, surely. The voice quickened—it ran with faster notes, as one who tells some eager tale. Then it swung in cradling-song the twilight25 of Athens—and the little birds sang low, twittering underneath26 the leaves—in softest garb—at last—rose leaves falling—the dusky bats around her roof-tops, and the high-soaring sky that arches all—mysterious and deep. Then the voice sank low, and rang and held the note—stern, splendid—Athens of might. City of Power! Glory, in changing word, and in the lift of eye. Athens on her hills, like great Jove enthroned—the shout, the triumph, the clash of steel, and the feet of Alaric in the streets. The voice of the Greek grew hoarse27 now, tiny cords swelled28 on his forehead. Athens, city of war. Desolation, fire, and trampling—! His eye was drawn29 in light. Vandal hand and iron foot!...
Who shall say how much of it he told—how much of it he spoke, and how much was only hinted or called up—in his voice and his gesture and his eye. They had not known that Athens was like this! They spoke in lowered voices, moving apart a little, and making place for the silver trays that began to pass among them. They glanced now and then at the dark man nibbling30 his biscuit absently and looking with unfathomable eyes into a teacup.
A large woman approached him, her ample bust31 covered with little beads32 that rose and fell and twinkled as she talked. “I liked your talk, Mr. Alexis, and I am going over just as soon as my husband can get away from his business.” She looked at him with approval, waiting for his.
He bowed with deep, grave gesture. “My country is honoured, madame.”
Other listeners were crowding upon them now, commending the fire-tipped words, felicitating the man with pretty gesture and soft speech, patronising him for the Parthenon and his country and her art. ... The mistress of the house, moving in and out among them, watched the play with a little look of annoyance33.... He would be spoiled—a man of that class. She glanced down at the slip of paper in her hand. It bore the name, “Achilles Alexandrakis,” and below it a generous sum to his order. She made her way toward him, and waited while he disengaged himself from the little throng34 about him and came to her, a look of pleasure and service in his face.
“You speak to me, madame?”
“I wanted to give you this.” She slipped the check into the thin fingers. “You can look at it later—”
But already the fingers had raised it with a little look of pleased surprise.... Then the face darkened, and he laid the paper on the polished table between them. There was a quick movement of the slim fingers that pushed it toward her.
“I cannot take it, madame—to speak of my country. I speak for the child—and for you.” He bowed low. “I give please to do it.”
The next moment he had saluted35 her with gentle grace and was gone from the room—from the house—between the stone lions and down the Lake Shore Drive, his free legs swinging in long strides, his head held high to the wind on the opal lake.
A carriage passed him, and he looked up. Two figures, erect36 in the sun, the breath of a child’s smile, a bit of shimmer8 and grey, the flash and beat of quick hoofs—and they were gone. But the heart of Achilles sang in his breast, and the day about him was full of light.
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1
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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2
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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3
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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4
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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5
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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6
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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7
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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8
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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9
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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11
halcyon
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| n.平静的，愉快的 | |
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12
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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13
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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14
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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15
eclat
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| n.显赫之成功，荣誉 | |
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16
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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18
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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19
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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20
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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21
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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22
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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23
flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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24
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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25
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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26
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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27
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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28
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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29
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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30
nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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31
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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32
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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33
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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34
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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35
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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36
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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