Gregory.
Julian!
Basil.
My friend and brother!
Julian.
I have been like a lover, languishing for the pressure of your hands. The court vermin, eager for certain persons' applause, called me an ape;—oh, would I had an ape's four hands, to squeeze yours all at once!
Gregory.
But explain; your servants meet us with flutes before the door, want to lead us to the bath, to anoint our hair and deck us with roses
Julian.
I saw you last night. The moon was full, you see,—and then is the spirit always strangely alert within me. I sat at the table in my library, and had fallen asleep, weary, oh! so weary, my friends, with research and writing. Of a sudden it seemed as though a storm-wind filled the house; the curtain was swept flapping aloft, and I looked out into the night, far over the sea. I heard sweet singing; and the singers were two large birds, with women's faces. They flew slanting towards the shore; there they dropped gently earthwards; the bird-forms melted away like a white mist, and, in a soft, glimmering light, I saw you two.
Gregory.
Are you sure of all this?
