But Ausonius did not understand the imperious rudeness of the brave soldier who was usually so devoted to him. When the Tribune curtly appealed to the right of war, Ausonius, deeply offended, pondered over all the reasons which, as he thought, must induce his friend not to yield his legal right in this instance to him. The poet, seeking motives for the act, of course first grasped the nearest: all the men in the camp gazed at the peculiar beauty of the child with unconcealed admiration. It was no wonder then that the Illyrian, in the full vigor of manhood, should also be seized with ardent love for the beautiful creature who had fallen into his hands and, without really having any evil design, wanted to keep her in his power until either from affection or obedience the captive should yield to her master. But this anxiety, which at first had weighed heavily upon him, was soon relieved. With the keen distrust of jealousy, he watched his rival sharply at every meeting; but even suspicion could discover nothing that would have warranted this conjecture. Quiet, unmoved, and steadfast as ever was the Tribune's bearing in her presence, which he neither shunned nor sought, but treated with indifference. He looked into the wonderful eyes no more frequently than occasion required, and his glance was calm, his voice did not tremble. So Ausonius regarded his friend's act as a soldier's strange whim, and did not doubt that he would soon give it up. But this proved an error. On returning to the camp Ausonius entreated his friend, without renouncing his right of possession, to place the young girl in the tent next to the Prefect's, now occupied by slaves and freedwomen, whom he would remove. But Saturninus insisted that Bissula should be lodged among the wives of the freedmen and female slaves who occupied some tents a long distance from the Prefect's. The young girl herself paid little heed to the discussion between the two Romans, whose meaning she scarcely understood. Released by the Tribune from the fear of death, and soothed by the presence of her honored friend, her young cheerful heart soon accommodated itself to the new condition of affairs,--not through recklessness, but through childish ignorance of the perils which possibly threatened her. Her grandmother was not discovered; her faithful servant had not been captured; she herself was certainly secure in the presence and under the eyes of her friend, the most aristocratic man in the Roman camp. He would not let a hair of her head be harmed, she knew.