- light, that I may see you.—How you have grown,
Agathon;—how strong you look.
Agathon.
And you are paler.
Julian.
I cannot thrive in the air of the palace. I think it is unwholesome here.—'Tis far otherwise at Makellon. Makellon lies high. No other town in Cappadocia lies so high; ah, how the fresh snow-winds from the Taurus sweep over it! Are you weary, Agathon?
Agathon.
Oh, in no wise.
Julian.
Let us sit down nevertheless. It is so quiet and lonely here. Close together; so! [Draws him down upon a seat beside the balustrade.]—"Can any good thing come out of Cappadocia," they say. Yes—friends can come. Can anything be better?
[Looks long at him.
How was it possible that I did not know you at once? Oh, my beloved treasure, is it not just as when we were boys?
Agathon.
[Sinking down before him.] I at your feet, as of old.
Julian.
No, no, no!
Agathon.
Oh, let me kneel thus!
