The courtiers whispered together in astonishment. "What a fortunate man you are," Aevius whispered in the ear of the new favourite. "Why did not I have the good luck to possess Glyceria's love, that I might cast it from me with the same indifference?" The slave soon returned with a letter from Glyceria to Manlius. The latter handed it to the Caesar: "It is yours; read it!" Carinus, with trembling hands, unrolled the parchment; his eyes sparkled as he read: "Manlius! Your lines quiver in my hand. A thousand emotions are raging in my heart; fear, longing, holy horrour, and wild love. I am under the ban of an irresistible spell. I wish you might not come, but if you do, I shall be unable to resist you. I feel within my breast the power and the desire to destroy the whole world, but at a breath from you all my strength fails; I am nothing more than a weak, loving woman, who loses her reason in her love. Oh, do not come! Glyceria." "That means: 'Oh, come!'" said Manlius laughing, propping himself carelessly on one elbow upon his couch. Carinus ordered his _lectica_ to be brought, and had himself lifted into it. "No man has ever done that," whispered the barber, filled with envy; "given up his own bride to another." "Meanwhile you are the ruler of Rome," said Carinus to Manlius. "Let the fellow who writes my name come. Whatever you command, I command. Reign over my kingdom." "And you over my heaven." The slaves closed the purple curtains of the _lectica_, raised it on their shoulders, and withdrew with the Caesar. The trembling courtiers, with humble faces, gathered around the youth whom the Imperator's crazy whim had made for an hour the master of the world. Manlius stretched himself comfortably upon the cushions of the imperial couch, sought among the throng of courtiers the man who was trembling most violently, and beckoned to him. It was Marcius, the barber; by virtue of imperial favour, Praefectus Praetorio. "You are the commander of the praetorians?" asked Manlius. "Yes, my imperial master," stammered the barber, rolling his eyes. Manlius laughed. "So you really consider me the Caesar? If I _were_ the Imperator, I would have you beheaded because you mocked at my face; but call me your friend. I know your merits." "O my Lord!" "I know, and will reward them. You are accustomed to bleed people, so you will make a good soldier; you are skilled in arranging the hair, which indicates your talent for commander-in-chief; and understand how to pluck out hairs coolly, from which I perceive that you are stern and impartial. I am not satisfied with the leaders of the army in the East, Numerian and Diocletian, and I therefore appoint you general of these troops. You will set out at once for Thrace. Honourable _Defraudator_! Sign our name to the document." Marcius's brain fairly reeled under the burden of his new dignities.