Ammian.
No, my Emperor,—here are both your shield and your sword.
Julian.
I am very glad of that. My good shield. I should grieve to think of it in the hands of the barbarians. Give it me, on my arm——
Makrina.
Oh, sire, ’tis too heavy for you now!
Julian.
Ah, you? You are right, pious Makrina; ’tis a little too heavy for me.—Lay it before me, that I may see it. What? Is that you, Ammian? Are you on guard here? Where is Anatolus?
Ammian.
Sire, he is now in bliss.