When disturbed by the messengers, Father Nymphodion was enjoying his tenth wine-cup, and seemed in too cheerful a mood. It was impossible to make clear to him the matter in hand, and he grew angry at what he believed to be raillery. But when at length convinced that fate had designated him to baptise an Emperor he nearly lost his reason. When he entered the chamber of the sick man, the Emperor gazed on the trembling priest with such humility that it was evident he feared to die, and was eager to hasten the ceremony. Meantime the town had been scoured in vain for a basin of gold or silver. It is true that a jewelled one was available, but it had served for the bacchic mysteries of Dionysus; and the common copper basin used by the parishioners of the basilica was therefore preferable. This copper basin was brought to the bed and warm water poured into it. The doctor was about to feel its temperature, but the Emperor made a brusque movement and groaned, lest the water should be sullied. The dying man's tunic was taken off. Strong arms of legionaries raised him, like a child, and immersed him. The wasted face of Constantius, his eyes fixed and wide open, stared at the cross fixed above the Labarum, the golden standard of Constantine. It was an obstinate and vacuous stare, as of children when they see some dazzling object and cannot turn away from it. The ceremony did not soothe the sick man, who seemed to have forgotten everything. Volition came into his eyes for the last time when Eusebius again stretched out to him the waxen tablet, but Constantius, unable to write, only traced with his finger the name "_Julian_." Did he desire to pardon his enemy or to bequeath his vengeance? For three days he lay in the extremity of death; courtiers murmured to each other that this was evidently some special punishment of God, who would not permit him to die. But they referred to him always as "The Divine Augustus," "His Holiness," and "The Eternal." His sufferings must have been great; the low moaning turned into a steady death-rattle, which went on day and night. Courtiers came in and went out, eagerly hoping for the end. The eunuch Eusebius alone never left his master. Many a crime had this eunuch upon his conscience; all the tangled threads of reports, espials, and ecclesiastical broils were gathered in his hands. But he alone in the palace proved his love to his master, and at night when everyone was sleeping, or had withdrawn, worn out by the task of nursing, Eusebius remained by the bedside, arranging pillows, cooling the dry lips with ice, or kneeling at the feet of the Emperor in prayer. When none saw, Eusebius would gently lift the purple coverlet and weepingly kiss the feet, now pale and benumbed. Once it seemed to him that Constantius noticed this caress and thanked him with a look. Something fraternal and tender passed between the two cruel, ill-starred, and solitary men.