A second Greek
servant of no less beauty bowed the new-comer and his companion
within. The noise of the streets was suddenly cut off. Soft dusk and
quiet proved that the doors of Amaryllis had been shut upon unhappy
Jerusalem.
The second servant drew a cord and a roller of matting lifted and
showed a skylight. Philadelphus the pretender was in the andronitis of
a Greek house.
It was typical. None but a Greek with the purest taste had planned it.
Walls and pavement were of unpolished marble, lusterless white. A
marble exedra built in a semicircle sat in the farther end, facing a
chair wholly of ivory set beside a lectern of dull brass. At either
end of the exedra on a pedestal formed by the arms, a brass staff
upheld a flat lamp that cast its luster down on the seat by night.
Against an opposite wall built at full length of the hall, was a
pigeonholed case, which was stacked with brass cylinders. This was the
library of the Greek. At a third side was a compound arch concealed by
a heavy white curtain. There were low couches spread with costly white
material which were used when Amaryllis set her table in her
andronitis, and at the arches leading into the interior of the house
there were draperies. But the chamber, with all its richness, had a
splendid emptiness that made it imposing, not luxurious.
After a single admiring survey of the hall in which he had been left
alone, the pretended Philadelphus fortified himself against his most
critical test.
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