"Bissula, fair maid born and reared in the cold land beyond the Rhine, Bissula, who bloomed so near the source of the Danube: Captive of war, thou hast, when released from bondage, made captive Thy conqueror: his heart became the prisoner's booty. Of a mother's care bereft, ne'er hast thou suffered a mistress: When thou a captive wast made, a mistress thou didst become, Though thou by Roman favor, O German, wast thus transformed. Still hast thou thine eyes' deep azure, still hast thou thy hair's red gold. Dual thou seemest now, and with dual charms adorn Latium's tongue thy mind, and Suabia's grace thy form." How do you like them, my dear friend? I hope they are not bad. At least they please _me_ extremely, and you know I am not vain. Now imagine how these melodious lines must gratify her--her who is their inspiration. CHAPTER XXV. The morning after Ausonius had made this last entry in his diary, Bissula, as usual, shared the first meal in his tent with the uncle and nephew. The Prefect of Gaul was in excellent spirits, often jested, talked a great deal, had his goblet repeatedly filled by the slave who was his cup-bearer, and remarked again that the campaign would soon be over. "When the ships come," he added in conclusion, "the Barbarians will sue for peace." Glancing up merrily his eyes chanced to rest on the young girl's face. To his surprise a mocking, nay, angry smile was hovering around lips pouting in defiance; her brow was frowning, and she made no reply. The conversation flagged. Herculanus watched the rising cloud sharply, and eagerly fanned the flame. "What?" he cried. "Peace? Bondage; extirpation! The Cæsar will soon drag the last remaining Alemanni before his triumphal chariot to the Capitol: the leaders will be strangled, the rest sold cheap: a German for a cabbage." Tears of rage filled Bissula's eyes. She could find no words; fury choked her voice. She searched her thoughts, her memory, for aid and defence. Adalo was the only name which came to her. "Yes, Adalo, if you were here, or if I had your swift speech, whispered by Odin! Stay--his verse--his verse of defiance. How, did it run?" She closed her eyes to think, resting her elbows on the table, with both little clenched hands pressed against her throbbing brow. "I will offer a toast," Herculanus went on, raising his goblet; "pledge me. You, the pupil of Ausonius, are surely one of us: Disgrace and death to the Alemanni!" Bissula sprang up. Her blue eyes were blazing; her red tresses fluttered around her head; a blow from her clenched fist sent the silver goblet rattling on the floor; and, in the language of her people, she cried loudly: