Round the Imperial chariot great dragon-shaped standards were floating. The purple stuff, swollen by the wind engulfed in the gullets of the monsters, gave out a shrill sound like the hiss of snakes, and the long purple tails of the dragons wavered to and fro above the people. In the Forum were drawn up all the legions quartered in Milan. Thunders of applause welcomed the Emperor. Constantius was pleased. The noise had neither been too feeble nor too tumultuous. Arranged beforehand according to the strictest etiquette, the soldiers had been instructed to be enthusiastic with moderation and respect. Giving each of his motions a kind of stiff and pedantic emphasis, Constantius solemnly descended from the chariot and went up to the tribune raised above the square. It was draped with ragged standards of old victories and studded with metal eagles. The trumpets sounded up anew in the call denoting that the leader desired to speak to his army. The Forum was instantly hushed. "_Optimi reipublicæ defensores!_" began Constantius. (Excellent defenders of the Republic.) The discourse was long-winded, tedious, full of scholastic flowers of rhetoric. Julian in Court dress now ascended the steps of the tribune, and the fratricide invested the last descendant of Constantius Chlorus with the sacred purple of the Cæsars. The sunlight filtered through the thin silk when the Emperor raised the purple to enrobe the kneeling Julian. The rich hue tinged the pale face of the new Cæsar, who murmured inwardly the prophetic verse of the Iliad-- "Eyes closed by purple death and puissant Destiny...." And nevertheless Constantius was welcoming him: "_Recepisti primævus originis tuæ splendidum florem, amatissime mihi omnium frater._" (Still young, you have attained already the flower of your royal birth, most beloved of all my brothers!) An enthusiastic roar rose from the legions. Constantius became rather gloomy; that shout had slightly exceeded the proper bounds. Julian must have pleased the soldiers. "Glory and prosperity to Cæsar Julian!" They cheered louder and louder, till it seemed as if they would never cease. The new Cæsar thanked the legionaries with a kindly smile, and every soldier clashed his buckler against his knee as a sign of rejoicing. It seemed to Julian that it was not by the will of the Emperor, but by the will of the gods, that he had reached this eminence. * * * * * Every evening Constantius was in the habit of consecrating a quarter of an hour to the polishing of his nails. It was one of the few toilet delicacies that he permitted himself, being sober, unimaginative, and rather gross than effeminate in all his habits. Paring his nails with little files, polishing them with minute brushes, he gaily asked his favourite eunuch, the grand chamberlain Eusebius, on the evening of the day of investiture-- "How soon do you think will Julian conquer the Gauls?"