“I know you very well by repute, Æmilius,” answered the Quatuorvir; “but I think there is no occasion now for your services. This is not a court of justice in which your forensic eloquence can be heard, neither is this a case to be adjudicated upon, and calling for defence. The virgin was chosen by lot to be given to the god Nemausus, and was again demanded by him speaking at midnight, after she had been rescued from his fountain, if I mistake not, by you. Your power of interference ceased there. Now, she is accused of nothing. She is reconsigned to the god, whose she is.” “I appeal to Cæsar.” “If I were to allow the appeal, would that avail thy client? But it is no case in which an appeal is justifiable. The god is merciful. He does not exact the life of the damsel, he asks only that she enter into his service and be a priestess at his shrine, that she pour libations before his altar, and strew rose leaves on his fountain. Think you that the Cæsar will interfere in such a matter? Think you that, were it to come before him, he would forbid this? But ask thy client if the appeal be according to her desire.” Perpetua shook her head. “No, she is aware that it would be profitless. If thou desirest to serve her, then use thy persuasion and induce her to do sacrifice.” “Sir,” said Æmilius in great agitation, “how can she become the votary of a god in whom she does not believe?” “Oh, as to that,” answered the Quatuorvir, “it is a formality, nothing more; a matter of incense and rose leaves. As to _belief_,” he turned to his fellow‐magistrate, and said, laughing, “listen to this man. He talks of belief, as though that were a necessary ingredient in worship! Thou, with thy plum‐colored nose, hast thou full faith in Æsculapius to cure thee even of a chilblain?” Fuscianus shrugged his shoulders. “I hate all meddlers with usages that are customary. I hate them as I do a bit of grit in my salad. I put them away.” The populace became impatient, shouted and stamped. Some, provided with empty gourds, in which were pebbles, rattled them, and made a strange sound as of a hailstorm. Others clacked together pieces of pottery. The magistrate turned to the pontiff on his right and said: “We believe with all our hearts in the gods when we do sacrifice! Oh, mightily, I trow.” Then he laughed again. The priest looked grave for a moment, and then he laughed also. “Come now,” said Lucius Petronius to the young lawyer, “to this I limit thy interference. Stand by the girl and induce her to yield. By the Bow‐ bearer! young men do not often fail in winning the consent of girls when they use their best blandishments. It will be a scene for the stage. You have plenty of spectators.” “Suffer me also to stand beside her,” said the slave‐woman Blanda, who had not left Perpetua. “By all means. And if you two succeed, none will be better content than myself. I am not one who would wish a fair virgin a worse fate than to live and be merry and grow old. Ah me! old age!”