In the clear and serene light falling through the glass ceiling, Maximus, clothed as a simple philosopher, was scrutinising the still-warm organs of the animal laid on the marble. Oribazius stooping over the liver of the animal was saying—
"How can Maximus, the great philosopher, believe in these ridiculous miracles?"
"I believe in them and I believe in them not," answered the magian. "This Nature which you and I are studying, is not she most miraculous? Are not these blood-vessels, this nervous system, the admirable combination of organs which we are examining like augurs—are not these the most splendid of mysteries?"
"You know my meaning," interrupted the young doctor. "Why have you deceived this young man?"
"Julian?"
"Yes."
"He himself desired to be deceived."
The brows of Oribazius knitted into a frown.
"Master, if you love me, tell me who you are. How can you endure lies like these? Do I not understand what magic means? You attach luminous fish-scales to the ceiling of a darkened chamber, and the pupil to be initiated believes that the skies are descending on him at the word of the hierophant. You manufacture with skin and wax a death's head, into which you fit a stork's neck; and through it you pronounce your predictions from beneath the floor. The pupil imagines that the skull uncurtains to him the secrets of the tomb; and when it is necessary that the head should vanish, you bring a chafing dish near it, the wax melts and the skull collapses. By skilful rays of coloured light playing on odorous smoke, you make the innocent believe that they have verily seen the gods! You display under water in a basin, of which the walls are stone and the bottom glass, a living Apollo (acted by an obliging slave), while some vulgar prostitute is played off as Aphrodite. This—this, you call the holy mysteries!"
His habitual equivocal smile wandered over the compressed lips of the teacher, who answered—