Dagalaïf, Hormizdas, Ariphas, Lucilian, and Sallustius came in, headed by the general Jovian. Many, with an eye to the future, had wished to see on the throne this weak and timid man, who could be dangerous to none. It was their hope under his rule to recover from the anxieties of the tumultuous reign of Julian. Jovian possessed the art of pleasing all. Tall and handsome in person, he in no way differed from the crowd, aiming at all-round benevolence. Among the intimate friends stood also a young centurion of the Imperial horse, the future famous historian, Ammianus Marcellinus. Everyone was aware that he was writing an account of the campaign, and amassing documents for a great historical work. Stooping under the tent-door Ammianus drew out tablets and stylus. A keen and impartial curiosity animated his stern face; and with the coolness of an artist or a man of science he prepared to take notes of the speech of the dying Emperor. "Lift the curtain!" Julian ordered. It was raised, and everyone stood aside so that the fresh air of the morning might blow on the face of the dying. The door faced east, and the view to the horizon was unbroken. "Now put the lamp out." The order was executed, and the tent filled with twilight. Everybody stood waiting in silence. "Listen, friends," Julian began; his voice was low but clear, his whole presence breathed a triumph of mind over body, and invincible will still gleamed from those eyes. The hand of Ammianus trembled, but he wrote down the words uttered. He knew that he was writing on the tables of history, and transmitting to men unborn the last words of a great man. "Listen, friends; my hour is come, perhaps too soon. But you see, like an honest debtor, I am not sorry to give back my life to Nature, and in my soul is neither pain nor fear; nothing but cheerfulness, and a fore-feeling of the long repose. I have simply done my duty, and have nothing to repent of. From the days when I daily expected death, like a hunted beast, in the palace of Macellum, in Cappadocia, up to the day of greatness when I took on the purple of the Roman Cæsar, I have tried to keep my soul stainless, I have aspired to ends not ignoble. If I have failed--and I have failed--to do all that I desired, you will not forget that most of our earthly affairs are in the hands of Destiny. And now I thank the Eternal for having allowed me to die neither after long sickness nor at the hands of the executioner, but on the battlefield--in mid-youth--in mid-endeavour, half-way to achievement.... And dear, dear friends...." His voice ceased; everyone present knelt down; many were weeping. "No, no, my dear friends," said Julian smiling; "why weep for those who are going back to their own country? Take heart, Victor!" The old man tried to answer, but in vain; then hiding his face in his hands, he sobbed aloud. "Soft! Soft!" cried Julian; and then turning toward the sky: "Ah, there He is!"