is place. With an
effort, however, he put the question:

"Is he an Englishman?"

"Yes."

He was seized with a tumult of anger. He spoke volubly, talking of the
ignorance of the English, their brutality, their dull brains, their
stupid pride. Xantippe waited till he had finished speaking and then
replied quietly:

"It cannot matter to you. It is my concern. You have lost all rights to
be angry with me or those connected with me."

Gregorio refused to hear reason, and explained how he begrudged them
their wealth and fame. "For these English are a dull people, and we
Greeks are greatly superior."

"I do not agree with you," Xantippe replied. "I have learned what a man
is since I have known him, and I have learned to hate you. You may have
more brains--that I know nothing of, nor do I care. He could not behave
as you have behaved, nor have sacrificed me as you have sacrificed me.
Some of his money comes to you. You want money. Be satisfied."

Gregorio felt the justice of her words, and he watched her put on her
hat and leave the room. A minute later, looking out of the window, he
saw her link her arm in that of the Englishman of the Paradiso, and
across the street, at the threshold of the Penny-farthing Shop, Madam
Marx waved her hand to himself and laughed.

VIII--A DESOLATE HOME-COMING

Toward the evening of a day a fortnight later, Gregorio found himself
seated in Madam Marx's cafe, idly watching the passers-by. He was
feeling happier, for that was being amassed which alone could insure
happiness to him. Each day some golden pieces were added to the amount
saved, and the cafe at Benhur seemed almost within his grasp. The
feeling of security from want acted as a narcotic and soothed him, so
that the things which should have troubled him scarcely interested him
at all. He was intoxicated with the sight of gold. When he had first
seen Xantippe and the Englishman together his anger had been violent;
but when at last the futility of his rage became certain, his aggressive
passion had softened to a smouldering discontent that hardly worried
him, unless he heard some one speak a British name. His prosperity had
destroyed the last vestiges of shame and soothed his illogical outbursts
of fury. He was contented enough now to sit all day with Madam Marx,
and returned to his home in the evening when Xantippe was away. He had
spoken to her only once since she had told him she hated him. He had
strolled out of the ca