The vineyard was full of groups, busied in the most
elegant and joyous of human occupations, gathering, with infinite
bursts of merriment, the harvest of the vine. Some mounted on ladders,
fixed against the festooning branches, plucked the rich bunches, and
threw them below, where girls, singing in chorus, caught them in
panniers, or their extended drapery. In the centre of the vineyard, a
middle-aged man watched with a calm, but vigilant eye, the whole
proceedings, and occasionally stimulated the indolent, or prompted the
inexperienced.
"Christo," said the Prince of Athens, when he had approached him. The
Primate turned round, but evidently did not immediately recognise the
person who addressed him.
"I see," continued the prince, "that my meditated caution was
unnecessary. My strange garb is a sufficient disguise."
"The Prince Nicaeus!" exclaimed the Primate. "He is, indeed, disguised,
but will, I am sure, pardon his faithful servant."
"Not a word, Christo!" replied the prince. "To be brief, I have
crossed the mountains from Roumelia, and have only within this hour
recognised the spot whither I have chanced to arrive.
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