Julian.
I see, I see. We must take note, Oribases!
Helena.
[Laughing softly.] Now he would be taking notes again.—Ink on his fingers; book-dust in his hair—unwashed; faugh, faugh, how he stinks.
Myrrha.
My lord, shall I not?
Julian.
Away with you, woman!
Helena.
How could you let yourself be conquered by him, you great-limbed, bronzed barbarian? He cannot conquer women. How I loathe this impotent virtue.
Julian.
Stand apart, all of you! Not so near, Oribases! I myself will watch the Princess.
Helena.
Art thou wroth with me, thou glorious one? Gallus is dead. Beheaded. What a blow that must have been! Be not jealous, oh my first and last? Burn Gallus in hell fire;—it was none but thou, thou, thou!
Julian.
No nearer, Oribases!
Helena.
Kill the priest, too! I will not see him after
