In the early morning the noise of festival and the cries of the people reached the sleeping-chamber of Anatolius. He had decided to pass all day indoors, the rejoicing of the populace being repugnant to him. He attempted to sleep again, and failed. A strange curiosity woke in him. Without a word to Ammianus, he dressed quickly, and went out into the street. It was a fresh and pleasant autumn morning. Great round clouds, in sharp contrast with the deep blue of the sky, sailed over the innumerable colonnades and marble porticoes of Antioch. In the forum and the markets everywhere ran the murmur of fountains and streams; and down the long dusty vistas of the bright streets flowed wide currents, artificially-channelled waters, crossing each other in a perfect network of rills. Here and there pigeons were cooing and picking grains of barley. The scent of flowers and incense issued from the open doors of churches. Near the fountain-basins young girls were sprinkling their baskets of pale October roses with water, or singing joyful psalms, and garlanding the columns of the Christian basilicas. A noisy crowd was pouring through the streets. Chariots and litters were forging slowly down the middle of the pavements. At every moment rose cries of-- "Hail to Jovian Augustus, the great and happy!" Some added: "The conqueror," but with a certain diffidence, as if the word smacked of irony. The same urchin who had once caricatured Julian on the walls of the town was there now clapping his hands, beating his drum, whistling, tumbling in the dust, and shouting (although he had no notion of the meaning of the words)-- "The Wild Boar has perished, the Devastator of the Garden of Eden!" An old woman, bent double in her rags, came out like a black-beetle into the sun, rejoicing with the rest. She was brandishing a stick and vociferating in a cracked voice-- "Julian has perished! The evil-doer has perished!" An infinite sadness filled the heart of Anatolius; but urged by curiosity he wandered on, and in following the Syngon, approached the cathedral. There he saw an official connected with the quæstorship, Marcus Avinius, coming out of the basilica, accompanied by two slaves, who elbowed a passage for him through the crowd. "What is this?" wondered Anatolius. "Why should this enemy of the Galileans be here?" Crosses embroidered in gold adorned the violet chlamys of Avinius, and were even sewn on his crimson leather shoes. Julius Mauricus, another friend of Anatolius, accosted Avinius-- "How do you do, my reverend friend?" he asked, after a surprised and mocking scrutiny of the dignitary's new costume. Julius was a free man, having an independent fortune; and for him the change of religion was a matter of indifference. He was by no means surprised at the transformation of his official friends, but took pleasure in putting teasing questions whenever he met them, assuming the air of a moralist who concealed indignation under the mask of irony.