"It is time to regain the desert, brother. Better to hear the howling of jackal and lion than the cry that dinned our ears in the Imperial palace. Happy are those who speak not. Happy those who hide themselves in desert places, beyond arguments of masters of the Church, who have understood the uselessness of words; who debate nothing. Happy is he who seeks not to understand God's mysteries, but who, merging his spirit into Thine, sings to Thy face, O Lord, like a harp; understanding how difficult it is to know, how easy to love Thee!" Ephraim was silent, and Pimenus murmured-- "Amen!" The quiet of night enveloped the pair, and courageously, steering by the stars, the two monks took their way eastwards rejoicing in the majesty of their barren road. XVI The city of Milan lay basking in the sun; and by every street the crowd was turning its steps towards the chief public square. Tremendous acclamations ran through the throng, and in the triumphant chariot, drawn by twenty horses white as swans, appeared the Emperor. His chariot seat was so lofty that the people were obliged to throw their heads back to behold him. His robes, besown with precious stones, sparkled dazzlingly in the sun. In his right hand he held the sceptre, in the left the Imperial globe crested by a cross. Motionless as a statue, outrageously painted, he looked straight before him without turning his head, which was held stiff as in a vice. During the whole journey, and despite the joltings of the car, the Emperor stirred not a finger, nor coughed, nor blinked the steady stare of his eyes. Constantius had acquired this immobility by years of effort, and was particularly proud of it, considering it an indispensable part of Imperial etiquette. On such occasions he would have preferred to undergo torture rather than betray his mortal nature by sneezing, coughing, or wiping off the sweat which stood in beads on his forehead. Although squat and bow-legged he imagined himself gigantic. When the chariot disappeared under the arch of triumph, not far from the baths of Maximian Hercules, the Emperor bowed his head as if he were afraid of striking his head against the lofty gates which would have freely taken a Cyclops beneath them. Each side of the road was lined with palatine guards helmeted and cuirassed in gold, the two ranks of the bodyguard flashing in the sun like streams of lightning.