The people were hurrying to the entrance of the church, and upon the deserted steps outside the friends were soon able to talk freely. Anatolius, ensconced behind a column, listened to the dialogue-- "Why didn't you stay to the end of the service?" asked Mauricus. "Palpitations. I was half-stifled. I'm not accustomed..." and Avinius added thoughtfully-- "The new preacher has an extraordinary style. His exaggerations act too violently on my nerves. A style ... like the scratching of iron on glass!" "Really, how touching!" laughed Mauricus. "Here's a man who has abjured conscience!... But _style_...." "No, no; perhaps I didn't understand him well!" interrupted Avinius. "Don't disbelieve it! Mauricus, I am sincere." From a downy litter the head of the chancery himself, Garguillus, got out, groaning-- "I think I'm late.... But that's of no great importance; I'll remain on the space outside ... God and the Holy Ghost...." "Here's another miracle!" laughed Mauricus. "Texts from the Bible, in the mouth of Garguillus!" "May Christ forgive you, my son!" quoth that imperturbable quæstor; "what are you always racking your soul about?" "Oh, but up to now I haven't been able quite to get over it! There are so many conversions, so many transformations! I had always imagined that your opinions...." "Pure stupidity, my dear son! I have only one opinion, which is, that the Galilean cooks are no worse than the Hellenist cooks. The Hellenists put me on a lenten diet ... which would make anybody ill.... Come and dine, O philosopher, and I'll bring you over to my belief. You will lick your fingers after it! And, after all, isn't it the same thing to eat a good dinner in honour of the god Hermes, and to eat it in honour of St. Mercurius? All these things are prejudices. I don't see anything irritating in trifles like this." And he pointed to the little amber cross, which dangled amidst the perfumed folds of an amethystine-purple robe, upon his enormous belly. "Look, there's Hekobolis, the arch-priest of the goddess Astarte-Dindymene! The hierophant has repented, and is now in black Galilean vestments again!... Oh, Ovid, singer of _Metamorphoses_, why art thou not here?" chanted Mauricus, pointing to an old man with a red face seated in a covered litter-- "What's he reading?" "It surely can't be the laws of the goddess of Pessinus!" "What divine humility!... Fasting has thinned him!... Look how he's sighing and throwing up his eyes!" "Do you know the story of his conversion?" asked Garguillus with a cheerful laugh. "He went to find Jovian, the Emperor, and I suppose, as formerly with Julian, fell at his feet...." "Oh, no! he invented something entirely new. There was a sudden public repentance. He prostrated himself at the door of a church, just as Jovian was coming out, and in the middle of the crowd, Hekobolis shouted 'Trample on me! trample on me! I am Dead-Sea fruit!' and, with tears, kissed the feet of the passers-by."