ltar of the
goddess of victory, where sacrifices were offered before the opening of
debates."

"Constantine had removed it previously."

"But Julian, the mighty conqueror of the Alemanni, restored it. And, by
Jupiter!--pardon me, by God!--with good success. The priests called him
'the apostate,' but the goddess of victory was not unfaithful to him.
Now men fight stoutly, with or without the goddess of victory. But--I
am a Roman--I dread the omen."

"You see the matter in too dark colors."

"You see it in too rosy a light. Your kind heart wishes good to all."

"Yes, even to the Barbarians!" Ausonius nodded, raising his goblet.
"They are human beings, too. And as the Stoa, not the Galilean, first
taught, all men are brothers."

"But there are too many of these yellow-maned brothers."

"And I believe in a deity--call him by whatever name you choose--that
directs all things well. Therefore I believe that these Barbarians will
listen to reason and soon offer you their submission."

"Perhaps the little girl--what is her name? Bissula--will also
surrender to Ausonius," said the Tribune in a jesting tone.

"Oh, the dear child! If I could only see her again."

"Do not wish it, Prefect."

"Why?"

"Perhaps she will conquer you! She would not be the first Barbarian.
Was it Pipa--or Pipara--that the girl of the Marcomanni was called,
with whom even an emperor fell desperately and hopelessly in love?"

"You forget I wanted her for a daughter, not a wife."

"At that time. Now she is no longer a child--and you are a widower."

"Alas! she probably fled with her people long ago. And yet, I am so
ready to believe what I desire!"

"Yes, that is one of your most amiable weaknesses,"

"Am I to hope for what I fear?"

"No, but to think what we do not desire more probable than what we
wish--that is my wisdom."

"No, no! I will not allow myself to be robbed of the hope that I shall
again see the little nymph of these forests."

"But if I catch her," cried the Tribune, laughing, "she will be mine
according to the laws of war."

A sudden change of expression--like a flash of lightning--flickered
across Herculanus's hazard visage. The Tribune did not see; his eyes
were fixed upon Ausonius's face, wondering that his features should
pale with fear.

"Can this feeling be so deep-seated in my worthy friend?" he thought.

"Uncle, surely you know that the Tribune is jesting," cried Herculanus,
as if to comfort him.

The I