Helena.
Say you so, messenger of gladness? So the Emperor still thinks lovingly of me? How is it with his health?
Julian.
Go, go, my beloved Helena!
Decentius.
The Emperor's health is certainly no worse.
Helena.
No, surely not? I thought as much. All those alarming rumours; God be praised that they were but rumours! Thank him most lovingly, good Decentius! And let me thank you too. What splendid gifts have heralded your coming! Imperialno, let me say brotherly gifts indeed! Two shining black Nubians,—you should see them, my Julian!—and pearls! See, I am wearing them already. And fruits,—sweet, luscious fruits! Ah, peaches from Damascus, peaches in chalices of gold! How they will refresh me;—fruit, fruit; I am pining away here in Gaul.
Julian.
A feast shall end the day; but business first. Go, my precious wife!
Helena.
I go to the church,—to pray for my brother and for all good hopes.
[She goes out to the right.
Julian.
[After an instant's pause.] A message, or letters?
