"I desire to write, as on a sign-post of infamy for future generations, the history of Julian, the foul renegade. May all ages and peoples read my inscription, and tremble before the justice of the Lord!... Come hither, torturer, serpent of wisdom, to-day we will scoff at thee! Together, my brothers, let us rejoice; let us sound our timbrels, and chant the chant of Miriam over the destruction of the Egyptians in the Red Sea. O Emperor! where are thy ceremonies, thy mysteries? Where now are thy invocations and thy divinations? Where are thy Persian and Babylonish glories? Where are the gods that accompanied thee--thy defenders, Julian? All have deceived thee, all have vanished!" "Ah, my dear! What a beard he has!" said an ancient rouged patrician lady, standing near Anatolius, to her neighbour. "It's a sort of gold, of brown-gold colour!" "Yes, but how about his teeth?" answered the other. "What--teeth? With a beard like that, teeth are nothing!" "No! ah no, Veronica, don't say that! Can one compare him with brother Tiphanius..." Theodorite continued-- "Julian bred evil in his soul as wild beasts secrete venom. God waited till all his cruelty was manifest, to strike him...." "Don't miss the circus to-day," murmured another neighbour of Anatolius into the ear of his companion. "There are going to be she-bears from Britain." "You don't say so! Real ones?" "Yes. One's called Mica Aurea (grain of gold), and the other Innocentia! They're fed on human flesh. And then, there'll be the gladiators!" "Lord Jesus!... we mustn't miss that! Let's not wait for the end! Let's run, in order to get a seat in time!" Meantime Theodorite was praising Julian's predecessor for his Christian benevolence, pure life, and love for all his family. Anatolius felt choked by the crowd. He went out of the church, and once quit of the smell of incense and oil, drew a deep breath of fresh air under the blue sky. Outside the church portico a loud conversation was going on undisturbed. A grave rumour was circulating in the crowd; the two she-bears were being led through the streets to the amphitheatre. Those who heard the news precipitately left the church before the end of the sermon, asking each other anxiously-- "Are we still in time? Is Mica Aurea ill?" "No, it's Innocentia who had a fit of indigestion to-day. But now she's going on quite well." "Thank God ... thank God!" The church quickly emptied. Anatolius saw panting multitudes running in the direction of the circus from every street, from every alley, from every basilica. They crushed each other, trampled on women and children, hurled abuse, lost their sandals, but halted for nothing in the race. Every face wore a careworn expression denoting that life depended on getting a seat in the amphitheatre. Two names full of sanguinary promise passed from lip to lip-- "Mica Aurea! Innocentia!" Anatolius followed the crowd into the amphitheatre.