“We were delayed in passing one of the basilicas,” said Fabricius; “there was a midnight service—we are still, you remember, in the octave of Easter. A procession of priests was coming out, and some of the troops of revellers around us were excited with wine, and there were rough jests, when the Bishop Leo himself appeared, and the noisiest revellers shrank away ashamed, and all was quiet.”
“Indeed, every one bows before Bishop Leo,” Marius said.
“Yes,” said Fabricius; “since the time of his election, when, during his absence on a mission of peace-making in Gaul, our impatient, restless Rome waited forty days tranquilly for his return, every one knows who is the true shepherd and ruler of Rome.”
“His battle-field is the oratory and the basilica,” said Damaris softly, “and therefore his presence brings peace to the world and to the city.”
Marius’ face lighted up, and he exclaimed—
“Then if Bishop Leo counselled that the post on the battle-field for me was on the frontier, face to face with the Huns, you would be content that I should go?”
“I must go to Bishop Leo’s own secret battle-field myself,” she said, “before I can answer thee.”
