Julian did not recover consciousness. His breathing grew weaker; he was thought to be breathing his last. But later his eyes opened, little by little; his look was fixed steadily on a corner of the tent. A rapid whisper broke from his lips: he was in delirium. "Thou, here, why?... what matters it? All is over. Canst Thou not see that?... Go. Thou hatedst laughter.... And so we can never forgive Thee...." Then, regaining his faculties, he asked of Oribazius-- "What hour is it? Shall I see the sun?" And he added dreamily-- "Oribazius, can it be possible that reason should be really so powerless? I believe it is a weakness of the body ... blood fills the brain, creating phantoms.... One must conquer ... reason must...." His ideas anew became confused, and his gaze resumed its fixity-- "I will not! Do you hear?... Go, Tempter! I do not believe! Socrates died like a god. Reason ... Victor, ah, Victor!... what do you want from me? Thou, the unappeasable, the implacable? Thy love is more terrible than death.... Thy burden is the heaviest of all.... Why dost thou look at me so? How much I have loved thee, Good Shepherd! ... Only Thou? No, no! The pierced feet, blood? ... The death of Hellas ... darkness?... I want sunlight, the golden sun ... on the Parthenon marble!... Wouldst thou veil the sun?..." It was one o'clock in the morning. The legions had returned to camp, with no exultation over their victory. In spite of fatigue, scarcely any slept, all waiting for news from the Imperial tent. Many stood sleeping, leaning on their lances round the half-extinguished camp-fires; and the breathing of picketed horses could be heard, munching captured forage of corn. Between the dark rows of tents, faint white lines showed on the horizon. Stars became yet more chilly and pale. The mists kept spreading, and the steel of lances and shields was clouded with dew. Here and there crew a cock, belonging to the Tuscan soothsayers. A calm sadness hovered over heaven and earth. The scene was illusive as a mirror; the near seemed far off and the distant came near. At the entrance to Julian's tent stood a throng of generals, friends, and familiar companions, all looking like phantoms in the misty twilight. Still deeper silence reigned within the tent. Oribazius, the physician, was pounding simples in a mortar to make a refreshing drink. The sick man lay calm, and the delirium had left him. At dawn, collecting himself, he asked impatiently-- "When will the sun rise?" "In an hour," answered Oribazius glancing at the clepsydra. "Call the generals," ordered Julian. "I must speak...." "Well-beloved Cæsar, it may be hurtful...." "What matter! I shall not die before the sun rises. Victor, raise my head." He was told about the victory over the Persians, the flight of the enemy's cavalry, and of the two sons of Sapor the king; of the death of fifty satraps. Julian showed neither astonishment nor gladness. He remained indifferent.