"I am Erich von Harben of Germania," said the young man. "Germania!" exclaimed the girl. "Caesar wrote of Germania, as did Sanguinarius. It seems very far away." "It never seemed so far as now," said von Harben; "Yet the three thousand miles of distance seem nothing by comparison with the centuries of time that intervene." The girl puckered her brows. "I do not understand you," she said. "No," said von Harben, "and I cannot blame you." "You are a chief, of course?" she asked. He did not deny the insinuation, for he had been quick to see from the attitude of the three patricians he had met that the social standing of a barbarian in Castrum Mare might be easily open to question, unless his barbarism was somewhat mitigated by a title. Proud as he was of his nationality, von Harben realized that it was a far cry from the European barbarians of Caesar's day to their cultured descendants of the twentieth century and that it would probably be impossible to convince these people of the changes that have taken place since their history was written; and, also, he was conscious of a very definite desire to appear well in the eyes of this lovely maiden of bygone age. "Favonia!" exclaimed von Harben. He scarcely breathed the name. The girl looked up at him questioningly. "Yes!" she said. "It is such a lovely name," he said. "I never heard it spoken before." "You like it?" she asked. "Very much, indeed." The girl puckered her brows in thought. She had beautiful penciled brows and a forehead that denoted an intelligence that was belied by neither her eyes, her manner, nor her speech. "I am glad that you like my name, but I do not understand why I should be glad. You say that you are a barbarian. Your appearance and your manner are those of a patrician, though perhaps you are overbold with a young woman you have never met before, but that I ascribe to the ignorance of the barbarian and so I forgive it." "Being a barbarian has its compensations," laughed von Harben, "and perhaps I am a barbarian. I may be again forgiven if I say you are quite the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and the only one--I--could--," he hesitated. "You could what?" she demanded. "Even a barbarian should not dare to say what I was about to say to one whom I have known scarce half a dozen minutes." "Whoever you may be, you show rare discrimination," came in a sarcastic tone in a man's voice directly behind von Harben. The girl looked up in surprise and von Harben wheeled about simultaneously, for neither had been aware of the presence of another. Facing him von Harben saw a short, dark, greasy-looking young man in an elaborate tunic, his hand resting upon the hilt of the short sword that hung at his hip. There was a sarcastic sneer upon the face of the newcomer. "Who is your barbarian friend, Favonia?" he demanded.