His voice failed him, and Berenike cried to the tribune: "Support him,
Nemesianus! Look after him and tend him. He is the brother of the
maiden--you know--If I know you, you will do all in your power for him,
and keep him hidden here till all danger is over."

"We will defend him with our lives!" cried Apollinaris, giving his hand
to the lady.

But he withdrew it quickly, for from the impluvium arose the rattle of
arms, and loud, confused noise.

Berenike threw up her head and lifted her hands as if in prayer. Her
bosom heaved with her deep breath, the delicate nostrils quivered, and
the great eyes flashed with wrathful light. For a moment she stood thus
silent, then let her arms fall, and cried to the tribunes:

"My curse be upon you if you forget what you owe to yourselves, to the
Roman Empire, and to your dying friend. My blessing, if you hold fast to
what you have promised."

She pressed their hands, and, turning to do the same to the artist, found
that he had lost consciousness. Johanna and Nemesianus had removed his
hat and caracalla, to attend to his wound.

A strange smile passed over the matron's stern features. Snatching the
Gallic mantle from the Christian's hand, she threw it over her own
shoulders, exclaiming:

"How the ruffian will wonder when, instead of the living woman, they
bring him a corpse wrapped in his barbarian's mantle!"