and children.  It follows that she must be a widow.  It were also well that she should be of kin to some influential personage, to whose counsel she might have recourse in times of difficulty, and whose authority might protect her against the slanderous and evil disposed.  I have not been able to meet any one endowed with all these qualifications, excepting myself.  I therefore propose to thee that thou shouldst instruct me in the speech of Desmotes, and when I am qualified to take thy place my uncle shall elevate thee to the dignity of Abbess, or bestow thee upon some young clergyman of extraordinary desert.”

Elenko intimated, perhaps with more warmth than necessary, her aversion to both propositions, and the extreme improbability of the Princess ever acquiring any knowledge of Greek by her instrumentality.

“If this is the case,” said the Princess, with perfect calmness, “I must have recourse to my other method, which is infallible.”

Elenko inquired what it might be.

“I shall represent to my uncle, what indeed he very well knows, that a saint is, properly speaking, of no value till he is dead.  Not until his decease are his relics available, or pilgrimages to his shrine feasible.  It is solely in anticipation of this event that my uncle is keeping Desmotes at all; and the sooner it comes to pass, the sooner will my revered relative come by his own.  Only think of the capital locked up in the new church, now so nearly completed, on the spot where they picked up the eagle!  How shall it be dedicated to Desmotes in Desmotes’ lifetime?  Were it not a most blissful and appropriate coincidence if the day of the consecration were that of the saint’s migration to a better world?  I shall submit this view of the case to my uncle:  he is accustomed to hear reason from me, of whom, between ourselves, he is not a little afraid.  Thou mayest rely upon it that about the time of the consecration Desmotes will ascend to heaven; while thou, it is gravely to be feared, wilt proceed in the opposite direction.  Would’st thou avert this unpleasantness, think well of my first proposal.  I give thee credit for loving Desmotes, and suppose, therefore, that thou wilt make some sacrifice for his sake.  I am a Kettle, thou art a Pot.  Take heed how thou knockest against me!”

Elenko sped back to bear tidings of the threatened collision to Prometheus.  As she approached his chamber she heard with astonishment two voices in eager conversation, and discovered with still greater amazement that their dialogue was carried on in Greek.  The second speaker, moreover, was evidently a female.  A jealous pang shot through Elenko’s breast; she looked cautiously in, and discerned the same mysterious veiled woman whose demeanour had already been an enigma to her.  But the veil was thrown back, and the countenance went far to allay Elenko’s disquiet.  It bore indeed traces of past beauty, but was altogether that of one who had known better days; worn and faded, weary and repining.  Elenko’s jealousy vanished, though her surprise redoubled, when she heard Prometheus address the stranger as “Sister.”