Julian.
What would you have me understand by that?
Hekebolius.
You called me your old teacher. See, here I lie in the dust before you, looking up to you with wonder, and calling you my new teacher.
Julian.
Rise, Hekebolius!
Hekebolius.
[Rising.] You shall hear everything, sire, and judge me according to your righteousness.—When you were gone, life at your august predecessor's court became almost intolerable to me. I know not whether you have heard that I was promoted to be the Empress's reader and almoner. But ah, could posts of honour console me for the loss of my Julian! I could scarce endure to see how men who made great show of outward virtue accepted gifts and bribes of every kind. I grew to hate this daily intercourse with greedy sycophants, whose advocacy was at the beck of any one who could pay down sounding gold for sounding words. Oh my Emperor, you do not know what went on here!
Julian.
I know, I know.
Hekebolius.
A frugal life in retirement allured me. As often as I might, I withdrew to Crete, to my modest Tusculum—my little country house,—where virtue did not seem to have utterly forsaken the world. There I have been living this summer as well; meditating upon human life and heavenly truths.
