"Death to the enemies of the thrice-pious Augustus!"
Paphnutis in a thunderous monotone persisted in crying while the guards dragged him away—
"I recognise the council of Nicæa!... Anathema on the Arian heresy!"
"Be silent, enemies of God! Anathema! the council of Nicæa! the assizes of Sardis! the canons of Paphlagonia!"
Blind Ozius remained seated motionless, forgotten by all, in his episcopal chair, murmuring inaudibly—
"Jesus Christ, Son of God, have pity upon us! What is the matter, my brethren, what is it?"
In vain he stretched feeble hands towards his terrified friends. Nobody saw him, nobody heard him; and tears streamed down his aged cheeks.
Meanwhile Julian watched all, a contemptuous smile upon his lips, full of inward triumph.
On the same day, late in the evening, in a quiet and solitary defile two Mesopotamian monks were journeying afoot together. They had been sent by Syrian bishops to the council, had escaped the palatine guards with great difficulty, and now, their minds at peace, were proceeding towards Ravenna to embark as quickly as possible upon the ship which was to restore them to the desert. Fatigue and sadness were on their faces. Ephraim, one of the two, was extremely old; the other, Pimenus, a lad.