“Also,” interposed Marius, “an oration in clever imitation of classical Latin, from a young man from the provinces, Sidonius Apollinaris;” and with a little of the superciliousness of the Imperial Metropolis he added, “This young noble told me he numbered among his intimates poets equal to Homer, Plato, and Euripides, to say nothing of Virgil and Horace.” “What did he speak about in his oration?” asked Lucia. “What did he _not_ speak about?” was the reply. “Gods and goddesses, nymphs and heroes, sun-gods, earth-gods, gods under the earth, all bringing wreaths, gems, stars, anything, everything, to the feet of the greatest of all, Valentinian the Third, Emperor of the West, lord of all hearts and hearths.” “Is he then a pagan?” “A pagan!—by no means. Pagans, genuine pagans, bring offerings to their gods and goddesses—don’t bring their gods and goddesses to pay tribute to Cæsar.” “Aetius was there also,” said Fabricius, “the Count of Italy, the great general who has been defending the Empire.” “What did he say?” asked Damaris. Fabricius replied— “He said to me softly as we came away, that it was just as well Attila the Hun should not be present at such a banquet.” “What has Attila to do with it?” asked Lucia. “He has hundreds of thousands of savages at his command,” replied her father. “And Honoria, the Emperor’s sister, has sent him a betrothal ring, requesting him to come and marry her, to set her free from the tyranny of her imperial relations, and to accept as her dowry half the Empire. And Attila accepts the proposal, and promises to come with his hundreds of thousands of savages as a bridal train, to lay Italy waste on his way, and probably throw the plunder of Rome in as a bridal gift.” “It is some farce Petronius Maximus got up for your amusement you are telling us of, not a fact!” said Damaris. “The Emperor may think it all a farce,” said Fabricius, “but scarcely the General Aetius, the Count of Italy.” “What is the General Aetius proposing to do?” “To go back to Gaul, and keep Attila there if he can,” replied Fabricius, “and to play his old game of setting the barbarians against each other. But the barbarians seem to have learnt the game, and not to enjoy it, so that it becomes more and more difficult to win. It almost seems as if the Romans would have to learn to fight their own battles again themselves.” “Father,” said Marius, “let me be one such Roman. Let me go to the provinces and fight these savages back! The Goths, they say, were civilized citizens compared with these Huns.” “With whom would you go?” said Fabricius. “With your young friend Sidonius Apollinaris, his Platos and Homers, his classical Latin and his elegant villas?” “No; with Aetius, to the battle-field, wherever that may be.”