Julian.
[Smiling faintly.] Which Gallus and I built Gallus finished his aisle; but I; mine never fully prospered.—How has it gone on since?
Agathon.
Not at all. The builders said it was impossible as you had planned it.
Julian.
[Thoughtfully.] No doubt, no doubt. I wronged them in thinking them incapable. Now I know why it was not to be. I must tell you, Agathon;—Mamas was a false saint.
Agathon.
The Holy Mamas?
Julian.
That Mamas was never a martyr. His whole legend was a strange delusion. Hekebolius has, with infinite research, arrived at the real truth, and I myself have lately composed a slight treatise on the subject—a treatise, my Agathon, which certain philosophers are said, strangely enough, to have mentioned with praise in the lecture-rooms
The Lord keep my heart free from vanity! The evil tempter has countless wiles; one can never know.
That Gallus should succeed and I fail! Ah, my Agathon, when I think of that church-building, I see Cain's altar
Agathon.
Julian!
