Makrina.
Oh, sire, 'tis too heavy for you now!
Julian.
Ah, <g>you</g>? You are right, pious Makrina; 'tis a little too heavy for me.—Lay it before me, that I may see it. What? Is that you, Ammian? Are you on guard here? Where is Anatolus?
Ammian.
Sire, he is now in bliss.
Julian.
Fallen? My trusty Anatolus fallen for my sake!—In bliss, you say? Ha
One friend the less. Ah, my Maximus!—I will not receive the Persian king's envoys to-day. Their design is merely to waste my time. But I will grant no terms. I will follow up the victory to the utmost. The army shall turn against Ctesiphon again.
Oribases.
Impossible, sire; think of your wounds.
Julian.
My wounds will soon be healed. Will they not. Oribases—do you not promise me?
Oribases.
Above all things rest, sire!
Julian.
What a most untimely chance! Just at this moment, when so many weighty matters are crowding in upon me. I cannot leave these
