“Also,” interposed Marius, “an oration in clever imitation of classical Latin, from a young man from the provinces, Sidonius Apollinaris;” and with a little of the superciliousness of the Imperial Metropolis he added, “This young noble told me he numbered among his intimates poets equal to Homer, Plato, and Euripides, to say nothing of Virgil and Horace.”
“What did he speak about in his oration?” asked Lucia.
“What did he not speak about?” was the reply. “Gods and goddesses, nymphs and heroes, sun-gods, earth-gods, gods under the earth, all bringing wreaths, gems, stars, anything, everything, to the feet of the greatest of all, Valentinian the Third, Emperor of the West, lord of all hearts and hearths.”
“Is he then a pagan?”
“A pagan!—by no means. Pagans, genuine pagans, bring offerings to their gods and goddesses—don’t bring their gods and goddesses to pay tribute to Cæsar.”
“Aetius was there also,” said Fabricius, “the Count of Italy, the great general who has been defending the Empire.”
“What did he say?” asked Damaris.
Fabricius replied—
“He said to me softly as we came away, that it was just as well Attila the Hun should not be present at such a banquet.”
“What has Attila to do with it?” asked Lucia.