The prisoner was the boy Pollio. His face was pale, but his bearing was erect and firm. The remarkable intelligence which had always characterized him did not fail him now. His quick eye took in everything. He knew the inevitable doom that impended over him. Yet there was no trace of fear or indecision about him. He knew that the only tie that bound him to earth had been severed. Early that morning the news of his mother's death had reached him. It had been carried to him by a man who thought that the knowledge of this would fortify his resolution. That man was Marcellus. The kindness of Lucullus had gained him an interview. His judgment had been correct. While his mother lived, the thought of her would have weakened his resolution; now that she was dead, he was eager to depart also. In his simple faith he believed that death would unite him at once to the dear mother whom he loved so fondly. With these feelings he awaited the examination. "Who are you?" "Marcus Servilius Pollio." "What is your age?" "Thirteen years." At the mention of his name a murmur of compassion went round the assemblage, for that name was well known in Rome. "You are charged with the crime of being a Christian. What have you to say?" "I am guilty of no crime," said the boy. "I am a Christian, and I am glad to be able to confess it before men." "It is the same with them all," said one of the judges. "They all have the same formula." "Do you know the nature of your crime?" "I am guilty of no crime," said Pollio. "My religion teaches me to fear God and honor the emperor. I have obeyed every just law, and am not a traitor." "To be a Christian is to be a traitor." "I am a Christian, but I am not a traitor." "The law of the state forbids you to be a Christian under pain of death. If you are a Christian you must die." "I am a Christian," repeated Pollio firmly. "Then you must die." "Be it so." "Boy, do you know what it is to suffer death?" "I have seen much of death during the last few months. I have always expected to lay down my life for my religion when my turn should come." "Boy, you are young. We pity your tender age and inexperience. You have been trained so peculiarly that you are scarcely responsible for your present folly. For all this we are willing to make allowance. This religion which infatuates you is foolishness. You believe that a poor Jew, who was executed a few hundred years ago, is a God. Can anything be more absurd than this! Our religion is the religion of the state. It has enough in itself to satisfy the minds of young and old, ignorant and learned. Leave your foolish superstition and turn to our wiser and older religion." "I cannot."