"Your excellency has quite rightly observed that the Emperor was nothing more than a greenhorn," said the parasite friend, with a profound bow. "He has recently published a pamphlet aimed at the inhabitants of Antioch and entitled, _The Beard-hater_, in which, in response to the insults of the populace, he says in effect--'You laugh at my beard and my coarseness of manners. Laugh as much as you please! I, too, laugh at myself. But I don't want trials, informers, prisons, or punishments!' Now is that worthy of a Roman Emperor? Is it dignified?" "The Cæsar Constantius of pious memory," declared Bouzaris, "can't be spoken of in the same breath with Julian! In his clothes, in his bearing, one could see at once he was a Cæsar. But this one, God forgive me, is only an abortion of the gods, a lame monkey, a bandy-legged bear who hangs about the streets unshaven, uncombed, unwashed, with stains of ink on his fingers. Why it makes me sick to see him!... Books, learning, philosophy.... Ah, we'll make you pay dear for all that! A ruler mustn't laugh with his people! He must keep them in hand. Once let the people slip, and he'll never get a grip on them again...." Then Marcus Ausonius, who up to that time had been mute, murmured thoughtfully-- "Well, one can forgive most things, but why does he take away the last remaining joy in life--the circus, and the fights of gladiators? My friends, the sight of blood causes, and will always cause, an inexplicable pleasure to man.... 'Tis a sacred and mysterious enjoyment. There's no gaiety without bloodshed, no greatness on the earth. The smell of blood is the smell of Rome!" The last scion of the Ausonii glanced naïvely round at his hearers. Sometimes he looked like a boy, sometimes like an old man. The swollen torso of Garguillus heaved on the floor. Raising his head, he glanced at Ausonius. "Neatly put. Smell of blood, smell of Rome!... Go on, Marcus, you're inspired to-day...." "I say what I feel, my dear fellows. Blood is so pleasant to man that even the Christians can't do without it. They want to purify the world through bloodshed. Julian is making a great mistake. In taking away the circus from the people he's robbing them of their chief enjoyment, which is naturally sanguinary. The populace would have pardoned almost anything; but it won't pardon that!" Marcus pronounced the last words solemnly, and then suddenly slipped a hand behind his back and his face beamed. "Are you perspiring!" asked Garguillus. "Yes!" answered Ausonius, with a rapturous smile. "Rub, slave, rub!" He lay down on the couch. The bath-slave fell to kneading the poor anæmic limbs, which had a deadly bluish tint. From their porphyry niches the figures of ancient time looked down with scorn through the milky smoke. Meanwhile at the cross-roads, outside the baths, a crowd was collecting.