The Emperor made no answer.
They came near a little ruined temple that ivy had invaded and overrun. Fragments lay about in the deep grass. A single column only remained standing; and on its lovely capital, clear-cut as the petals of a lily, shone the last rays of sunset.
The friends sat down on the flags together and inhaled the air, sweet with mint and thyme and wormwood. Julian put the leaves aside and pointing to an antique broken bas-relief—
"Oribazius! That is what I hoped for!"
The bas-relief represented a religious procession of the ancient Athenians.
"That is what I desired ... beauty like theirs! Why from day to day do men become more and more deformed and misfeatured? Where are the immortal old men, the austere heroes, the proud lads, the pure women in their white and floating robes? Where is that strength, that gaiety of heart? Galileans! Galileans! what have you done with these things?"
He gazed at the bas-relief with eyes full of infinite sadness and infinite love.
"Julian," asked Oribazius, gently, "do you believe in Maximus?"
"Yes."
"Wholly?"