“Poor fellow!” he said to himself.  “He has been hit by Cupid’s arrow, and is no longer his own master.  He thinks he’s on the right road to happiness; I hope he may find it, and never discover his mistake!  Well, we never get just what we want in this world, and a man’s happiness depends after all on his own way of feeling and thinking.”

Mr. Plateas fancied this was philosophy, but, in fact, it was only a blind attempt to get rid of disagreeable thoughts.  He could not forget the judge’s evident dejection and vain effort to hide it.  What if Mr. Liakos did want him to marry the plain sister!  Perhaps his friend had felt a delicacy about speaking to him on the subject, and had denied ever having thought of such a thing only when stung by his ungrateful words.

Who had a better right to claim such a sacrifice?  Did he not owe his very life to the judge?  And how had he repaid this debt?  He had tried to escape it!  He had ignored his friend’s delicacy, and basely threatened to drown himself rather than lift a hand to secure his preserver’s happiness.  The more he thought of it, the blacker seemed his ingratitude.  He had actually insulted the man who had saved his life!  The blood rushed to his cheeks; his remorse grew keener and keener, and his philosophy was of little comfort.  Having eaten his last bunch of raisins, be pushed away his plate angrily, threw his napkin on the table, and went up to his room in a very discontented frame of mind.

“I’ve behaved abominably,” he said to himself.  “Why should I have offended him?  There was no need of saying what I did.  Reflection always comes too late with me!”

And striking his head with his hand, he paced up and down his room in the growing darkness until Florou came in and put his lamp on the table.

She came and went without a word.

The professor stopped a moment, and his eyes rested on the light.  The light reminded him of his duty and invited him to work; he must prepare his lesson for the morrow.  For the first time in his life he found that he could not fix his mind upon his books.  He hesitated, and then began to walk up and down again, thinking of Mr. Liakos, of his pupils, of the merchant’s two daughters, and of the gymnasiarch, [Footnote:  Superintendent of a gymnasium or secondary school.] all at the same time.  Finally, in this jumble of ideas, professional instinct got the upper hand.  He sat down at the table, put the three heavy volumes of Gazis’s Dictionary, the Syntax of Asopios, and his other handbooks of study in their usual order, then set out his ink and paper, and found in his “Iliad” the page marked for the next day.  He began his work by noting the etymology of each word, the syntax of every phrase, and the peculiarities of each hexameter.  His class had reached the sixth book of the “Iliad.”