Читать книгу Fabiola; Or, The Church of the Catacombs онлайн

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“Really!” asked Fabius, “with what?”

“Why,” answered Agnes, with a look of glowing earnestness, and in tones of artless simplicity, “he has girded my hand and neck with precious gems, and has set in my ears rings of peerless pearls.”[25]

“Goodness! who can it be? Come, Agnes, some day you must tell me your secret. Your first love, no doubt; may it last long and make you happy!”

“For ever!” was her reply, as she turned to join Fabiola, and enter with her into the dining-room. It was well she had not overheard this dialogue, or she would have been hurt to the quick, as thinking that Agnes had concealed the most important thought of her age, as she would have considered it, from her most loving friend. But while Agnes was defending her, she had turned away from her father, and had been attending to the other guests. One was a heavy, thick-necked Roman sophist, or dealer in universal knowledge, named Calpurnius; another, Proculus, a mere lover of good fare, often at the house. Two more remain, deserving further notice. The first of them, evidently a favorite both with Fabiola and Agnes, was a tribune, a high officer of the imperial or prætorian guard. Though not above thirty years of age, he had already distinguished himself by his valor, and enjoyed the highest favor with the emperors Dioclesian in the East, and Maximian Herculius in Rome. He was free from all affectation in manner or dress, though handsome in person; and though most engaging in conversation, he manifestly scorned the foolish topics which generally occupied society. In short, he was a perfect specimen of a noble-hearted youth, full of honor and generous thoughts; strong and brave, without a particle of pride or display in him.