After inspecting the various prospective lodgings, I finally decided in favor of a little three-room suite (three rooms, that is, in addition to the sleeping chamber on the roof) which looked out over a tree-lined expanse toward the sapphire dome of the Hall of Public Enlightenment. I was urged to take these quarters largely because of the fascination of the frieze-lined adjourning court, whose finely modelled images of gods and nymphs and satyrs offered me a prospect of fruitful study. But I was also captivated by the rooms themselves, which gave a bizarre effect with their walls decked with seaweed tapestries, and which seemed at once like a home and a temple with their high vaulted ceilings, their arching doorways and great elliptical windows, and their removable partitions capable of transforming the entire apartment into a single good-sized hall. * * * * * It was fortunate perhaps that I chose these particular lodgings, for otherwise I might never have known Xanocles. Xanocles was to be my one intimate among all the men of Atlantis. It so happened that he--that fiery spirit, audacious thinker, and trustworthy friend--had chosen his abode in the same building; and it also happened (since fate works in inscrutable ways even in Atlantis) that he and I were early thrown together. It was, indeed, on the very day after my return to Archeon that Xanocles and I met. I had just settled in my new home, and had gone out into the court for my first close inspection of its mural decorations, when a door across from me slid open and a tall, white-clad figure emerged. A single glance would have told me that the stranger was exceptional, and a single glance perhaps told him that I was exceptional in Atlantis: for he paused in startled surprise, and for an embarrassed instant we stood staring inquiringly at one another. In that first fleeting glimpse I had an impression of a powerful personality; a large head poised squarely over a pair of broad and capable shoulders; two vivid blue eyes deeply set beneath a massive brow; a beardless oval face dominated by flowing chestnut locks; classic features, with chin and nose consummately modelled. But I did not notice then what I was often to observe later: the ironic glitter in the alert eyes, the forceful and determined lines into which the face would habitually settle, the air of overflowing vigor tempered by an easy self-command. Judging from the smooth contours of the man’s face, I took him to be not over thirty years of age; and I was later much surprised to learn that he was well past forty (since in Atlantis people do not age so rapidly as on earth). “By Agripides! You must be one of those visitors from up above!” exclaimed the newcomer, recovering from his astonishment. And he approached me with a winning smile, and held out both hands by way of greeting. “My name is Xanocles. We seem to be neighbors, you and I. Perhaps we can get to know each other.”