The slave ran to get the plate in question. "It can be used for a long time yet," said Julian. He smiled. "My friends, I have long observed that the broken outlasts the new. I confess I have a fancy for cracked things. They have the charm of old friends!... I fear novelty and hate change," and he laughed heartily at himself. "You see what philosophy lies in a broken plate!" Julius Mauricus twitched Hekobolis by the sleeve-- "Did you hear? That's his character! He keeps his cracked plates and expiring gods; and that is how a world's destiny is decided!" Julian had become completely absorbed in edicts and laws for reform. In every city in the Empire it was his wish to found schools, lectureships, debating-halls; special forms of prayer, and philosophic sermons, refuges for the upright, and for those who desired to devote themselves to philanthropic meditation. "What?" whispered Mauricus to Hekobolis. "Monasteries in honour of Aphrodite and Apollo? A new horror!" "Yes, my friend, with the aid of the gods we shall accomplish it all," concluded the Emperor. "The Galileans want to convince the world that they have a monopoly of brotherly love, although it belongs to all philosophers, whatever be the gods they revere. My task in the world is to preach a new love; a love free and glad as the very sky of the Olympians!" Julian glanced round those present, but on the faces of his dignitaries did not find what he sought. Deputations from the Christian professors of rhetoric and philosophy at this moment entered the hall. An edict forbidding Christian teachers to give instruction in classical eloquence had recently appeared. The Christian grammarians had therefore to renounce their faith or quit their schools. Scroll in hand, one of these teachers approached the Emperor. He was a little thin man with a confused manner, bearing a strong likeness to a parrot. Two raw and awkward pupils accompanied him. "Beloved of the gods, have pity on us!" Julian interrupted-- "What's your name?" "Papirian, a Roman citizen." "Well, understand, my dear Papirian, I bear no grudge against you ... on the contrary, remain Galilean...." The old man fell at the Emperor's feet and kissed them. "Forty years have I been teaching grammar.... I know Homer and Hesiod better than anyone else...." "What do you want..." asked Augustus sternly. "Sir, I have six children!... Don't rob me of my last crust!... My pupils like me; ask them if I teach anything harmful!" Emotion prevented Papirian from continuing his speech, and he pointed to his pupils, who, not knowing where to put their hands, stood together staring and blushing.