‘To see me?’ said the other, and a very faint flush passed across his face. ‘To see you,’ said Atlee slowly, while he drew out a pocket-book and took from it a letter. ‘This,’ said he, handing it, ‘is to your address.’ The words on the cover were M. Spiridionides. ‘I am Spiridion Kostalergi, and by birth a Prince of Delos,’ said the Greek, waving back the letter. ‘I am well aware of that, and it is only in perfect confidence that I venture to recall a past that your Excellency will see I respect,’ and Atlee spoke with an air of deference. ‘The antecedents of the men who serve this country are not to be measured by the artificial habits of a people who regulate condition by money. _Your_ statesmen have no need to be journalists, teachers, tutors; Frenchmen and Italians are all these, and on the Lower Danube and in Greece we are these and something more.--Nor are we less politicians that we are more men of the world.--The little of statecraft that French Emperor ever knew, he picked up in his days of exile.’ All this he blurted out in short and passionate bursts, like an angry man who was trying to be logical in his anger, and to make an effort of reason subdue his wrath. ‘If I had not understood these things as you yourself understand them, I should not have been so indiscreet as to offer you that letter,’ and once more he proffered it. This time the Greek took it, tore open the envelope, and read it through. ‘It is from Lord Danesbury,’ said he at length. ‘When we parted last, I was, in a certain sense, my lord’s subordinate--that is, there were things none of his staff or secretaries or attachés or dragomen could do, and I could do them. Times are changed, and if we are to meet again, it will be as colleagues. It is true, Mr. Atlee, the ambassador of England and the envoy of Greece are not exactly of the same rank. I do not permit myself many illusions, and this is not one of them; but remember, if Great Britain be a first-rate Power, Greece is a volcano. It is for us to say when there shall be an eruption.’ It was evident, from the rambling tenor of this speech, he was speaking rather to conceal his thoughts and give himself time for reflection, than to enunciate any definite opinion; and so Atlee, with native acuteness, read him, as he simply bowed a cold assent. ‘Why should I give him back his letters?’ burst out the Greek warmly. ‘What does he offer me in exchange for them? Money! mere money! By what presumption does he assume that I must be in such want of money, that the only question should be the sum? May not the time come when I shall be questioned in our chamber as to certain matters of policy, and my only vindication be the documents of this same English ambassador, written in his own hand, and signed with his name? Will you tell me that the triumphant assertion of a man’s honour is not more to him than bank-notes?’