“Why, that to preserve the religion of the empire such beings as she whom you have slain” (her tears interrupted her for a moment) “should have to die; while monsters who disgrace the shape and name of man should have to live and flourish. Oh, sir, you know not what you have blotted out from earth this day! She was the purest, sweetest, holiest thing I ever knew upon it, the very flower of womanhood, though yet a child. And she might have lived yet, had she not scorned the proffered hand of a vile adventurer, who pursued her with his loathsome offers into the seclusion of her villa, into the sanctuary of her home, and even into the last retreat of her dungeon. For this she died, that she would not endow with her wealth, and ennoble by her alliance, that Asiatic spy.” She pointed with calm scorn at Fulvius, who bounded forward, and exclaimed with fury: “She lies, foully and calumniously, sir. Agnes openly confessed herself a Christian.” “Bear with me, sir,” replied the lady, with noble dignity, “while I convict him; and look on his face for proof of what I say. Didst thou not, Fulvius, early this morning, seek that gentle child in her cell, and deliberately tell her (for unseen, I heard you) that if she would but accept thy hand, not only wouldst thou save her life, but, despising the imperial commands, secure her still remaining a Christian?” Fulvius stood, pale as death: _stood_, as one does for a moment who is shot through the heart, or struck by lightning. He looked like a man on whom sentence is going to be pronounced,--not of death, but of eternal pillory, as the judge addressed him, saying: “Fulvius, thy very look confirms this grievous charge. I could arraign thee on it, for thy head, at once. But take my counsel, begone hence forever. Flee, and hide thyself, after such villany, from the indignation of all just men, and from the vengeance of the gods. Show not thy face again here, nor in the Forum, nor in any public place of Rome. If this lady pleases, even now I will take her deposition against thee. Pray, madam,” he asked most respectfully, “may I have the honor of knowing your name?” “Fabiola,” she replied. The judge was now all complacency, for he saw before him, he hoped, his future daughter-in-law. “I have often heard of you, madam,” he said, “and of your high accomplishments and exalted virtues. You are, moreover, nearly allied to this victim of treachery, and have a right to claim her body. It is at your disposal.” This speech was interrupted at its beginning by a loud hiss and yell that accompanied Fulvius’s departure. He was pale with shame, terror, and rage.