"By this right hand," remarked the other, "few people care for father and mother as he cares for his gods!" "You see," laughed a third, "how he puffs out his cheeks to kindle the fire again!... Blow, blow!... It won't catch!... Your uncle Constantine put _that_ fire out." The flames jetted up, illumining the Emperor's face. Dipping the holy water brush into a shallow cup, a silver patine used to cover the chalice, he besprinkled the sacrificial water over the heads of the crowd. Some grimaced, others started, at feeling the cold drops on their faces. When all the ceremonies were over, Julian remembered that he had prepared a philosophical discourse for the people. "Men," said he, "the god Dionysus is the beginning of your souls' liberty. Dionysus breaks every chain that binds you; he mocks the strong, sets free the slave...." But he perceived such a dull stupidity upon every face, such an expression of tedium and weariness, that the words died on his lips. A mortal disgust for humanity arose in his heart. He made a sign to the lance-bearers to come round him. Grumbling and disappointed, the crowd dispersed. "I'm going straight to church to get absolution. Do you think I shall be forgiven?" said one of the Fauns, snatching off his own false beard and horns with an angry gesture. "It wasn't worth losing one's soul for that, eh?" observed with wrath a lady of doubtful reputation. "Nobody wants your soul, or would give three obols for it!" "The cursed devils!" yelled a drunkard. "They didn't give us enough wine to get the taste of it!" In the sacristy of the temple the Emperor washed face and hands, took off the splendid Dionysian dress, and put on again the simple white tunic of the Pythagoreans. The sun was declining, and he waited the fall of dusk to retrace his way to the palace unperceived. Julian went into the sacred wood of Dionysus, where the silence was broken only by the humming of bees and the tinkle of a brook. A sound of steps made him turn round. It was his old friend, one of Maximus' favourite pupils, the young Alexandrian doctor, Oribazius. They walked on the narrow path side by side. The sun was shining through large golden leaves of the vine. "Look!" said Julian smiling. "Here great Pan is still alive!" Then in a lower tone he added, hanging his head-- "Oribazius!... You saw it?" "Yes," responded the student. "But perhaps the fault lay with you, Julian.... What did you hope for?" The Emperor made no answer. They came near a little ruined temple that ivy had invaded and overrun. Fragments lay about in the deep grass. A single column only remained standing; and on its lovely capital, clear-cut as the petals of a lily, shone the last rays of sunset. The friends sat down on the flags together and inhaled the air, sweet with mint and thyme and wormwood. Julian put the leaves aside and pointing to an antique broken bas-relief-- "Oribazius! That is what I hoped for!"