"Julian," murmured Oribazius, "I fear for you.... You wish to accomplish the impossible.... Crows do not feed on the living, and the dead do not rise again.... Ah, Cæsar! what if the miracle does not succeed?" "I have no fear. My defeat shall be my victory!" exclaimed the Emperor, with so radiant a happiness on his young face that Oribazius was thrilled, as if the miracle was now to be achieved. "Glory to the rejected! Glory to the conquered! But before my destruction," he added with a proud smile, "we will fight a good fight!... I would that my enemies were worthy of my hate, and not of my contempt!... In truth I love my enemies. They teach me to feel and measure my own force! They bring into my heart the gaiety of Dionysus. Or it shall be the old Titan, snapping his chains, and kindling anew the Promethean fire! Titan against Galilean!... Rejoice, tribes and peoples of the earth! I am the messenger of life who shall set you free! I _am_ the Anti-Christ!" III In the neighbouring monastery, behind windows and doors closely sealed, solemn prayers of the religious were resounding above the distant noise of Bacchic chants. To drown them the monks joined their voices in shrill lamentation-- "_Why, Lord, hast Thou abandoned us? Why has Thy anger fallen upon Thy sheep?_ "_Why hast Thou given us up in dishonour to the hand of the heathen?_ "_Why hast Thou let mankind do outrage unto Thee?_" The ancient words of the prophet Daniel took on an unwonted meaning-- "_The Lord has delivered us to the evil king, the cunningest in all the earth!..._" Late in the night, when the sun had sunk upon the streets, the monks went back to their cells. Brother Parphenas could not even think of sleeping. His face was pale and gentle, and in his great eyes, clear as a maiden's, perplexity was visible when he spoke about worldly matters. He spoke rarely, indistinctly, and in a fashion so quaint, on topics so childish, that it was difficult to hear him without smiling. Sometimes he laughed without cause; and austere monks would say to him-- "What are you cackling at? Is it to please the Devil?" Then he would timidly explain that he was laughing at his own thoughts, and thus convince everybody that Parphenas was mad. One great art he possessed--that of illuminating manuscripts; and this art of Brother Parphenas brought to the monastery not only money, but renown in the most distant provinces. Of this he had no suspicion, and if he had been able to understand what reputation means, would rather have been dismayed than delighted. His artistic occupations, which cost him vast pains (Brother Parphenas pushed perfection of detail to an exquisite finish), were not in his eyes a labour, but an amusement. He never said, "I'm going to work." But he always asked of the old Father Superior Pamphilus, who loved him tenderly, "Father, give me your blessing, I am going to play."