The judge had already chosen his confidant, and so was in no hurry to take advantage of the opportunity that now offered; he was still silent, and began to regret his thoughtless promise to tell his friend everything.  While he had an esteem and even a warm affection for Mr. Plateas, he could not regard the professor as a fitting recipient for a love-confidence, or quite able to appreciate the delicacy of his feeling; and, besides, it seemed to him almost treason to reveal again the secret he had already confided to another.

Mr. Plateas noticed his friend’s hesitancy, but ascribed it to agitation.  After a pause he saw that the confession was not coming of itself, and tried to draw it out by asking questions.  Although frank, the answers he received were brief; still, he was able to gather that the judge had been in love ever since coming to Syra,—­three years before,—­and had then vowed either to marry Mr. Mitrophanis’s younger daughter, or never to marry at all.  It was only within the last few months, however, that Mr. Liakos had met the young girl for the first time, at a friend’s house, and had discovered that his love was returned.

“Where did this happen?”

“At my cousin’s.”

“Does she know the two girls?”

“Oh, yes; she was a friend of their mother’s.”

“Ah!  Now I understand,” cried the professor.  “Your cousin received your sighs.  She has been your confidante!  That’s why you never said anything to me.”

The judge smiled, but his poor friend felt a little jealous of this cousin.

“Why didn’t you propose for her hand just as soon as you knew she liked you?” the professor continued.

“I did, a week ago; I requested my cousin to call on Mr. Mitrophanis, but—­”

“But what?  Where could he find a better son-in-law?  He didn’t refuse you, surely?”

“No, he did not refuse, but he made a condition that can be fulfilled—­ Heaven knows when!  In the meanwhile he does not wish us to meet.  I had not seen her for ten days, even at a distance, and you can understand with what emotion just now I—­”

“What is this condition?” asked the professor.

“To wait until the elder sister is married.  He won’t allow the younger to marry, or even to be betrothed, before the elder.”

“Ah, my friend, that’s a pity!  I fear you’ll have to wait a long, long time.  It won’t be so easy to marry off the sister.  Still, all things are possible,—­you mustn’t despair.”

The judge was silent, evidently a prey to melancholy.  After a little he said: 

“And yet that sister is a perfect treasure, in spite of her lack of beauty.  There isn’t a sweeter soul on earth; she has entreated her father to change his decision; she assures him that she has no wish to marry, and that her only desire is to remain with him to care for his old age, and to help rear her sister’s children.  But the old man is inflexible; when once he takes a stand, that’s the end of it!”