“Oh! could we but bestow this precious gift on our mother-country and her colonies! would the tribes of our native land but forget their Dorian, Ionian or AEolian descent, and, contenting themselves with the one name of Hellenes, live as the children of one family, as the sheep of one flock,—­then indeed we should be strong against the whole world, and Hellas would be recognized by all nations as the Queen of the Earth!”

[This longing desire for unity was by no means foreign to the Greeks, though we seldom hear it expressed.  Aristotle, for example, says VII. 7.:  “Were the Hellenes united into one state, they could command all the barbarous nations.”]

A fire glowed in the eyes of the grey-haired woman as she uttered these words; and the Spartan, grasping her hand impetuously and stamping on the floor with his wooden leg, cried:  “By Zeus, I will not let a hair of their heads be hurt; but thou, Rhodopis, thou art worthy to have been born a Spartan woman.”

“Or an Athenian,” cried Phanes.

“An Ionian,” said the Milesians, and the sculptor:  “A daughter of the Samian Geomori—­”

“But I am more, far more, than all these,” cried the enthusiastic woman.  “I am a Hellene!”

The whole company, even to the Jew and the Syrian, were carried away by the intense feeling of the moment; the Sybarite alone remained unmoved, and, with his mouth so full as to render the words almost unintelligible, said: 

“You deserve to be a Sybarite too, Rhodopis, for your roast beef is the best I have tasted since I left Italy, and your Anthylla wine’ relishes almost as well as Vesuvian or Chian!”

Every one laughed, except the Spartan, who darted a look of indignation and contempt at the epicure.

In this moment a deep voice, hitherto unknown to us, shouted suddenly through the window, “A glad greeting to you, my friends!”

“A glad greeting,” echoed the chorus of revellers, questioning and guessing who this late arrival might prove to be.

They had not long to wait, for even before the Sybarite had had time carefully to test and swallow another mouthful of wine, the speaker, Kallias, the son of Phaenippus of Athens, was already standing by the side of Rhodopis.  He was a tall thin man of over sixty, with a head of that oval form which gives the impression of refinement and intellect.  One of the richest among the Athenian exiles, he had twice bought the possessions of Pisistratus from the state, and twice been obliged to surrender them, on the tyrant’s return to power.  Looking round with his clear keen eyes on this circle of acquaintances, he exchanged friendly greetings with all, and exclaimed: 

“If you do not set a high value on my appearance among you this evening, I shall think that gratitude has entirely disappeared from the earth.”

“We have been expecting you a long time,” interrupted one of the Milesians.  “You are the first man to bring us news of the Olympic games!”