drous garment of silk broidered with gold, such as nobles of high rank wore at festivals. This robe, which fitted as though it had been made for me, I put on, though I liked the look of it little. Martina would have had me even remove my sword, but I refused, saying:
"Except at the express order of the Empress, I and my sword are not parted."
"Well, she said nothing about the sword, Olaf, so let it be. All she said was that I must be careful that the robe matched the colour of the necklace you wear. She cannot bear colours which jar upon each other, especially by lamp-light."
"Am I a man," I asked angrily, "or a beast being decked for sacrifice?"
"Fie, Olaf, have you not yet forgotten your heathen talk? Remember, I pray you, that you are now a Christian in a Christian land."
"I thank you for reminding me of it," I replied; and that moment a chamberlain, entering hurriedly, commanded my presence.
"Good luck to you, Olaf," said Martina as I followed him. "Be sure to tell me the news later—or to-morrow."
Then the chamberlain led me, not into the audience hall, as I had expected, but to the private imperial dining chamber. Here, reclining upon couches in the old Roman fashion, one on either side of a narrow table on which stood fruits and flagons of rich-hued Greek wine, were the two greatest people in the world, the Augusta Irene and the Augustus Constantine, her son.
She was wonderfully apparelled in a low-cut gar-
