There is more
to drink. The draught is poorer."
It seemed to Denis that the Count's wine had not been watered.
"Let me show you one or two other things," said the old man.
They wandered about the premises awhile, looking at marbles, prints,
intaglios, coins, till a serving man entered--a clean-shaven and rather
bony old creature whom the Count called Andrea--to announce tea. Denis
was feeling calmer; he had fallen under the beguiling influence of this
place. He realized that his host was different from the artist type he
had hitherto encountered; more profound, more veracious. Already he
formed the project of returning to listen to his melodious voice, and
learn some more about that Hellenic life which had hitherto been a
sealed book to him. Nobody every spoke to him after the Count's
fashion. He contrasted his address with the bantering, half-apologetic,
supercilious tone of those other elderly persons who had heretofore
deigned to enlightened him. He was flattered and pleased at being taken
seriously and bidden to think in this straightforward, manly fashion;
it unstrung his reserve and medicined to his wounded self-respect.
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