From youth up, her dream had been to become the spouse of Christ. The idea of marriage filled her with disgust. At first she had thought all was lost, but, seeing afterwards that Julian asked from her no conjugal caresses, she grew calmer and lived in her apartment, morose, placid, dressed in black, the life of a nun. In her prayers Helena had vowed perpetual chastity.
On this night a mischievous curiosity drove Julian to the tower in which his wife was praying. He opened the door without knocking, and went into the feebly lighted cell; the virgin was kneeling before a lectern above which hung a large crucifix.
Julian approached, and screening the flame of the lamp with one hand, gazed at his wife for some minutes, frowning. She was so absorbed in devotion that she did not notice him. He said—
"Helena!"
She uttered a cry and turned her pale severe face towards Julian.
He looked wonderingly at the great crucifix, the gospel, and the lectern, and murmured—
"Are you always praying?"
"Yes! I pray for you also, well-beloved Cæsar."
"For me? Really!... Confess that you believe me to be a great sinner?"