only know that I often enough groaned in anguish under my enforced and hated silence. I ventured as far as I by any means dared. That letter written to an unnamed man in your camp, which contained an account of the Emperor's triumphal entry in Rome, and which you found one morning on the march to Lutetia pushed under your tent-flap; you did find it, my lord?
Julian.
Yes, yes?
Sallust.
That was directed to me, and chance favoured me in bringing it into your hands. I dared not speak. I longed to, but I could not; I put off from day to day the confession of my shame. Oh, punish me, my lord; see, here I lie!
Julian.
Stand up; you are dearer to me thus,—conquered without my will and against your own. Stand up, friend of my soul; no one shall touch a hair of your head.
Sallust.
Rather take the life which you will not long have power to shield. You say the Emperor is at death's door. [He rises.] My Caesar, what I have sworn to conceal, I now reveal to you. There is no hope for you in the Emperor's decay. The Emperor is taking a new wife.
Julian.
Ah, what madness! How can you think?
