When Caliphronas appeared at the entrance, however, all this merriment vanished; for Helena, mindful of the previous night, sprang to her feet, with an indignant look at the advancing Greek, and the faces of Maurice and the poet assumed a cold expression of keen disapproval. Not so Justinian, who, quite enjoying the situation, received his enemy with a bland smile, which, had Caliphronas but known it, boded ill for the success of his mission. “Helena, my child,” said the Demarch quietly, “will you leave us for a little while. I have some business with Count Caliphronas.” Helena needed no second bidding, but, with an angry glance at her rejected lover, walked quickly to the curtains, through which she vanished, but not before sending a sweet smile in the direction of Maurice. Caliphronas saw that smile, and felt uneasy as to the meaning of it, but he became still more uneasy, when the Demarch, without asking him to be seated, addressed him formally as Count Caliphronas. “Why do you not call me Andros?” asked the Greek apprehensively. “I understood you called yourself Count Caliphronas,” replied Justinian smoothly, “and, naturally, I give you that title. Of course, I thought you were but a shepherd boy, who, in default of god-parents, had to be called by the name of your birthplace. However, I am wrong, as it seems you are the offspring of a noble family, and have a title.” “I don’t know what you mean by talking to me like this!” said the Count in rather a cowed manner, feeling that the speech of the Demarch was decidedly hostile in tone. “I wish to speak to you alone.” “You can speak to me in the presence of these gentlemen,” retorted the old man coolly; “they know all my secrets.” “All?” said Caliphronas in a meaning tone. “As far as you are concerned—yes!” “Beware, Justinian!” cried the Count in Greek, whereupon the Demarch ruthlessly interrupted him. “You had better speak English. I prefer it.” This was quite the dictatorial Demarch of old, strangely unlike the yielding Justinian of the last few weeks, so Caliphronas, feeling more and more uneasy, burst out into a torrent of rapid English. “What do you mean? Why do you talk like this? Have you forgotten your promise to me?” “What promise?” “Your promise that I should marry Helena!” “Oh yes, yes! I remember something about that. Well, have you asked her to marry you?” “I have, and she has refused me,” said Caliphronas sullenly. “In that case, I am afraid you cannot marry her.” “Cannot marry her!” stammered Caliphronas, the rich color of his face fading to a dull gray; “but you promised to make her marry me.” “Did I? then I break that promise!” “You break it! And what about my succeeding you as Demarch of Melnos.” “I break that also!”