"Yes!... yes! later!... O gods!... another ill omen." He entered the library and began to rummage among the parchments. Suddenly he heard a voice murmuring distinctly in his ear: "Dare! dare! dare!" "Maximus, it is thou!" exclaimed Julian, wheeling round. There was no one in the dark apartment. Julian's heart beat so strongly that he pressed his hand against his side; a cold sweat stood on his forehead. "This--this is what I was waiting for!" murmured Julian. "The voice was 'his'; now, all doubt is over!... I will go!" The barred gates had given way with a crash. Legionaries were pouring into the atrium, thrilling the old palace with their cries, while the crimson glare of the torches shone through the chinks of shutters like the light of a conflagration. Not a minute was to be lost. Casting away his white robes, Julian donned his armour, paludamentum, war cloak, and helmet, buckled on his sword, and ran down the principal staircase leading to the entrance. He opened the door and presented himself to the soldiers with a calm and unshaken demeanour. All doubts had disappeared. While in action his will never vacillated; but never up to that day had he been conscious of such a fulness of inward force, such clearness and self-possession of mind. In a moment the crowd felt that supremacy. The pale face of Julian was imperial and awe-striking, and at a gesture from him the mob was silenced. Julian spoke to the soldiers, asking them to restore order; he would neither abandon them nor permit that they should be taken from Gaul; on that head he would convince his well-beloved brother, the Emperor Constantius. "Down with Constantius!" interrupted the legionaries. "Down with him who slew his brother! Thou art our Emperor! Glory to Augustus Julian, the Invincible!" Admirably did Julian affect surprise, and, as if startled, lowered his eyes and turned aside his head with a deprecating gesture of his lifted palms, as putting away from him so criminal a gift. The shouts redoubled. "What is this?" said Julian, feigning dismay. "You are ruining me and you are ruining yourselves. Do you think that I can betray my sovereign?" "Yes! your brother's murderer!" shouted the men. "Silence!" answered Julian, striding towards the crowd. "Do you not know that we are sworn...?" Every movement was a hypocritical ruse. When the soldiers surged round him he drew his sword from its sheath and pointed it against his own breast as if to fall on it. "Bravest of the brave! better die for Cæsar than betray him!" But the men, seizing his hands, disarmed him, and many, falling at his feet, kissed them, weeping-- "Ah! we are willing to die for you!" Others stretched out their hands, groaning-- "Have pity on us; be our Augustus!" The heart of Julian was thrilled. He loved these rough faces, the barrack-atmosphere, and the unrivalled enthusiasm in which he felt his own power.