from the far-away interiors seemed to mock his footsteps as he passed the wine-shops; and all the other houses were silent and asleep.  At last he arrived on the quay, and the black lines of the P. and O. stood out firmly before him against the pitiless blue of sea and sky.  He wandered over the hot stone causeway, but found no one.  The revenue officers were away, and not a labourer, not a sailor, was visible.  Beyond the breakwater little tufts of silvery foam flashed on the rollers, and a solitary steamer steered steadily for the horizon.  He could see the Greek flag at her stern, and his eyes filled with tears.  Ah, how little his friends in Athens thought of the man who had come to find fame and fortune in the far-off East!  He sat down on the parapet and watched the vessel until she became a tiny speck on the horizon, and then he recommenced his search for work.  His heart was braver for a moment because of its pangs; he swore he would show these countrymen of his who dwelt at home, and who in three days would see the very ship he had been gazing at arrive in Grecian waters, that he was worthy of his country and his kinsfolk.

But resolutions were useless, tenacity of purpose was useless.  For two long hours he wandered by the harbour, but met no one.

At last the sun fell behind the western waves, and the windows of the khedive’s palace glowed like a hundred flaming eyes; the flags fell from the masts of the vessels; on the city side was a sudden silence, save for the melancholy voices of the muezzins; then the day died; the bright stars, suddenly piercing the heavens, mocked him with their brilliance and told him that his useless search for bread was over.

Gregorio went back slowly to his home.  Already the Rue des Soeurs was crowded.  The long street rang with music and laughter, and instead of blinds covering the windows merry women leaned upon the sills and laughed at the crowds below.

Gregorio, when he reached his house, would have liked to go straight to bed.  But it was not to be, for as he entered the tiny room he heard his wife trying to persuade the hungry infant into sleep, and his footsteps disturbed her tears.  He had to calm them as best he could, and as he soothed her he noticed the child had a crust in his hand which he gnawed half contentedly.  At the same moment the dim blue figure of an Arab passed by the opposite wall, and had almost gained the door ere Gregorio found words.

“Who are you?”

“It is Ahmed,” his wife answered, gently, placing her trembling hand upon his shoulder; “he too has children.”

Gregorio scowled and muttered, “An Arab,” and in that murmur none of the loathing was hidden that the pseudo-West bears for the East.

“The child is starving,” said Ahmed.  “I have saved the child; maybe some day I shall save the father.”  And Ahmed slipped away before Gregorio could answer him.

For a while neither he nor his wife spoke; they stood silent in the moonlight.  At last Gregorio asked huskily, “Have you had food?”