Addington. I don't want them to
tell me what they thought in Greece and Rome. Greece and Rome are dead.
The only part of them that's alive is the Greece and Rome of to-day."

When the interpreter passed this on, he stopped at a dissentient murmur.
There were those who knew the bright history of their natal country and
adored it.

"Oh, the man's a fool," said Madame Beattie again. "I'm going in there."

She took up the tail of her gown, put her feather-crowned head through
the gap in the fence and drew her august person after, and Jeffrey
followed her. He had a gay sense of irresponsibility, of seeking the
event. He was grateful to Madame Beattie. They went on, and as it was
that other night, some withdrew to leave a pathway and others stared,
but, finding no specific reason, did not hinder them. Madame Beattie
spoke once or twice, a brief mandate in a foreign tongue, and that, Jeff
noted, was effective. She stepped up on the running-board of the car and
laid her hand on the interpreter's arm.

"You may go, my friend," said she, quite affectionately. "I do not need
you." Then she said something, possibly the same thing, Jeff thought,
in another language, and the man laughed. Madame Beattie, without
showing sign of recognising Moore, who was at her elbow, bent forward
into the darkness and gave a shrill call. The crowd gathered nearer. Its
breath was but one breath. The blackness of the assemblage was as if you
poured ink into water and made it dense. Jeffrey felt at once how
sympathetic they were with her. What was the cry she gave? Was it some
international password or a gipsy note of universal import? Had she
called them friend in a tongue they knew? Now she began speaking,
huskily at first, with tumultuous syllables and wide open vowels, and at
the first pause they cheered. The inky multitude that had kept silence,
by preconcerted plan, while Weedon Moore talked to them, lost control of
itself and yelled. She went on speaking and they crashed in on her
pauses with more plaudits, and presently she laid her hand on Jeffrey's
shoulder and said to him:

"Come up here beside me."

He shook his head. He was highly entertained, but the mysterious game
was hers and Weedie's. She gave an order, it seemed, in a foreign
tongue, and the thing was managed. The interpreter had stepped from the
car, and now gentle yet forcible hands lifted down Weedon Moore, and set
him beside it and other hands as gently set up Jeffrey in his