There, in the open lecture-halls, lies the field of battle. Light and gladness encompass the fighters and the fray. Javelins of speech hurtle through the air; keen swords of wit clash in the combat; the blessed gods sit smiling in the clouds——
Julian.
Oh, away from me with your heathendom——
The Philosopher.
——and the heroes go home to their tents, their arms entwined, their hearts untouched by rancour, their cheeks aglow, the blood coursing swiftly through every vein, admired, applauded, and with laurels on their brows. Ah, where is Achilles? I cannot see him. Achilles is wroth——
Julian.
Achilles is unhappy!—But can I believe it? Oh, tell me—my brain is dizzy—has Libanius said all this?
The Philosopher.
What brought Libanius to Constantinople? Had he any other end than to achieve the illustrious friendship of a certain youth?
Julian.