“Ah! sir,” he replied, “you are too good. But it would have been well for me if I had contented myself with following Virgil; unfortunately I must also imitate Juvenal. Praise of the fallen may be forgiven, but there is no pardon for satire against those that succeed. Enmity lasts longer than friendship, and I have made enemies whom nothing can appease.” [Illustration: Claudian’s Tale.] “But what of Stilicho?” said the Count. “Surely he has not ceased to be your friend. Doubtless you owe much to him, but he owes more, I venture to say, to you. He may have given you wealth, but you have given him immortality.”(48) “Ah! sir,” said Claudian, “have you not then heard?” “Heard!” cried the Count; “we hear nothing here. We always were cut off from the rest of the world; but for the last nine months we might as well have been living in the moon, for all that has reached us of what is going on elsewhere.” “You did not know, then, that Stilicho was dead?” “Dead! But how?” “Killed by the order of the Emperor.” “What! killed? by the Emperor’s orders? It is impossible. The man who saved the Empire, the very best soldier we have had since Cæsar! And you say that the Emperor ordered him to be killed?” The Count rose from his seat, and walked about in incontrollable emotion. “So they have killed him! Fools and madmen that they are! There never was such a man. I knew him well. He was always ready, always cheerful, as gay in a battle as at a wedding; as brave as a lion, and yet never doing anything by force that he could contrive by stratagem. But tell me—they had, or pretended to have, some cause. What was it?” “They said he was a traitor, that he wanted the Empire for himself, or for his son, that he intrigued with the barbarians.” “Well, he was fond of power; and who can wonder that he was dissatisfied when he saw in what hands it was lodged? But tell me—what do you think?” “I don’t say,” resumed Claudian, “that he was blameless, but he had an impossible task—he had to save the Empire without soldiers. He did it again and again; he played off one barbarian power against another with consummate skill; and filled his legion one day with the enemies whom he had routed the day before. But this could not be done without intrigues, without devices which, taken by themselves, looked like treason. But it is idle to speak of the past. He lies in a dishonoured grave, and the Empire of Augustus is tottering to its fall.” “Tell me of his end,” said the Count. “You saw it?” “Yes,” said the poet; “I saw it, and, I am ashamed to say, survived it. Well, I will tell you my tale. You know he might have had the Empire; the soldiers offered it to him; Alaric and his Goths would have been delighted to help him. But he refused. He was loyal to the last. He would not even fly. There are many places where he would have been safe——” “Yes,” interrupted the Count; “he would have been safe here, if I know anything of Britain.”