"Exactly. Now, friend, I go to-morrow, and while I am away I want you to be as quiet as a hunting cat. I have done all I wanted to do here, and it is for you to keep very quiet till we are ready. There has been much harm done in Athens by men who cannot hold their tongues. As you know, the patriots there are collecting money and men, but they are so proud of their subscriptions, which are very large, that they simply behave like cocks at sunrise on the house-roofs. Here let there be no talking. When the time comes Father Andréa will speak; he will put the simmering-pot on the fire. I would give five years of my life to be able to talk as he can talk." "The next five years?" asked Demetri. Nicholas smiled. "Well, no, not the next five years. I would not give them up for fifty thousand years of heaven, I think. Have you any corn?" "Black corn for the Turk?" "Surely." Demetri glanced at Mitsos, and raised his eyebrows. "Even now the mills are grinding," he said. "Let there be no famine." Mitsos, of course, understood no word of this, and his uncle did not think fit to enlighten him. "You will hear more about the black corn," he said to him. "It makes good bread. At present forget that you have heard of it at all. Have you got these men for me?" he asked, turning again to Demetri. "Yes; do you want them to-day?" "No. Mitsos will go with me as far as Nemea, and they had better join me there to-morrow night. Turkish dress will be safer." He rose, leaving the brandy untasted. "Will you not drink?" asked Demetri. "No, thanks. I never drink spirits."