'Well' said Julia; 'there is the greater reason why we should see more of each other and of Zenobia. Aurelian is the same?' 'The same? There is the same form, and the same face, and the same voice; but the form is motionless, save when at the Hippodrome,--the face black as Styx, and his voice rougher than the raven's. That agreeable humor and sportiveness, which seemed native to him, though by reason of his thousand cares not often seen, is now wholly gone. He is observant as ever of all the forms of courtesy, and I am to him what I have ever been; but a dark cloud has settled over him and all the house, and I would willingly escape if I could. And worse than all, is this of Aurelia! Alas, poor girl!' 'And what, Livia, is the truth?' said Julia; 'the city is filled with rumors, but they are so at variance one with another, no one knows which to believe, or whether none.' 'I hardly know myself,' replied Livia. 'All I know with certainty is, that I have lost my only companion--or the only one I cared for--and that Aurelian merely says she has been sent to the prisons at the Fabrician bridge. I cannot tell you of our parting. Aurelia was sure something terrible was designed against her, from the sharpness and violence of her uncle's language, and she left me as if she were never to see me again. But I would believe no such thing, and so I told her, and tried to give to her some of the courage and cheerfulness which I pretended to have myself: but it was to no purpose. She departed weeping as if her heart were broken. I love her greatly, notwithstanding her usual air of melancholy and her preference of solitude, and I have found in her, as you know, my best friend and companion. Yet I confess there is that in her which I never understood, and do not now understand. I hope she will comply with the wishes of Aurelian, and that I shall soon see her again. The difficulty is all owing to this new religion. I wish, Julia, there were no such thing. It seems to me to do nothing but sow discord and violence.' 'That, dear Livia,' said Julia, 'is not a very wise wish; especially seeing you know, as you will yourself confess, so little about it.' 'But,' quickly added Livia, 'was it not better as it was at Palmyra? who heard then of these bitter hostilities? who were there troubled about their worship? One hardly knew there was such a thing as a Christian. When Paul was at the palace, it was still all the same only, if anything, a little more agreeable. But here, no one at the gardens speaks of Christians but with an assassin air that frightens one. There must surely be more evil in them than I ever dreamed of.'