"Yes, my noble friend," said Ausonius, with a certain solemnity, slowly rising from his couch, "stay! I myself desire it. You shall be the first witness: my resolution is formed, unalterable! Bissula, I owe my life to you: in return there is but one reward--this life, my life itself." The girl drew back in terror. She did not understand him. "A slave was of course impossible. To wed even his own freedwoman is against the law for a Senator; but I shall undoubtedly receive a dispensation from the Emperor, and I care nothing for the jests of my colleagues." "What do you want to do with me?" asked the young girl anxiously. "Except the Cæsar," Ausonius went on thoughtfully, "no man in the Western Empire stands above me; only two are of equal rank. I am Praefectus Praetorio of Gaul. Nay, more,--no one knows it yet, not even you,--my Saturninus,--the Emperor has promised me next year the highest honor in the Roman State. This coming year will take its name from me." "You are to be Consul?" cried the Tribune, reverently. "What is it? What does it mean?" asked the poor girl, now thoroughly frightened. The solemnity, and the numerous Roman names of dignities were becoming more and more mysterious. But Ausonius, nodding complacently, continued: "And no living poet is my peer. Bissula, you shall share all this with me. Tomorrow you shall go with me to Vindonissa to the Emperor. Yes, yes, don't shake your defiant little head, you shall be with me all my life, for I, Ausonius, Ausonius of Burdigala, will make you my wife!" He now drew himself up to his full height, stretching both arms to her. With glowing cheeks, throbbing heart, and eyes flashing with shame and fear and wrath, Bissula, crimsoning more and more deeply, had listened to the last words and gazed in horror at the approaching Roman. Now she uttered a loud shriek: "No! No! Never!" Wrenching herself from Saturninus, who tried to hold her, she sprang out of the tent. Outside, panting for breath, she ran as fast as her little feet would carry her, through the dark silent camp, reached her tent, unfastened Bruna, led her in, pressed her down on the ground, flung herself beside her and, bursting into a torrent of tears, buried her face in the soft thick fur. The faithful, intelligent animal doubtless knew that something was wrong. Licking the girl's fingers, the bear growled, a low, soft, tender growl, like a mother soothing her sick child. The monotonous, droning tone produced a drowsy influence like a lullaby. So, under the protection of the bear, though often sobbing vehemently, Bissula at last fell asleep. BOOK THREE THE FREEDWOMAN CHAPTER XLV. Ausonius was deeply grateful to his preserver, certainly; and he had wished to bestow a transcendent reward. Yet he was very keenly exasperated by this rude, fierce, foolish, nay, ungrateful disdain. And before the Tribune, too--the younger man.