Blissful our crowning with martyrdom’s jewel;
Blissful our meeting with saints gone before.
Julian.
The madmen. Not so near to me! My guard, my guard!
[The two processions have meanwhile encountered each other in the crush. The procession of Apollo has to stand still while the other, with the prisoners—men in chains, surrounded by soldiers, and accompanied by a great concourse of people—passes on.
Publia.
My child! Hilarion!
Hilarion.
[Among the prisoners.] Rejoice, my mother!
Julian.