Many days had passed. All was calm in Nemausus. The games were over.
The day succeeding that we have described was warm and spring-like. The sun shone brilliantly. Every trace of the snow had disappeared, and the water-fight in the amphitheater had surpassed the expectations of the people. They had enjoyed themselves heartily.
All had returned to its old order. The wool merchant took fresh commands, and sent his travelers into the Cebennæ to secure the winter fleeces. The woman who had the flower-shop sold garlands as fast as she could weave them. The potter spread out a fresh collection of his wares and did a good business with them.
The disturbances that had taken place were no more spoken about. The deaths of Marcianus, Baudillas and Perpetua hardly occupied any thoughts, save only those of their relatives and the Christians.
The general public had seen a show, and the show over, they had other concerns to occupy them.
Now both Pedo and Blanda were free, and the long tarrying was over. They had loved when young, they came together in the autumn of their lives.
In the heart of the Church of Nemausus there was not forgetfulness of its heroes.
If the visitor at the present day to Nîmes will look about him, he will find two churches, both recently rebuilt, in place of, and on the site of, very ancient places of worship, and the one bears the name of St. Baudille. If he inquire of the sacristan, “Mais qui, donc, était-il, ce saint?” then the answer given him will be: “Baudillas was a native of Nîmes, a deacon, and a martyr.”
If he ask further, “But when?” Then the sacristan will probably reply with a shrug: “Mais, monsieur; qui sait?”
In another part of the town is a second church, glowing internally with color from its richly painted windows, and this bears the name of Ste. Perpetue.