Petrus examined and felt the skin, “This is an anchorite’s garment,” he said; “the penitents on the mountain are all accustomed to wear such.”

“It is one of those rascals then that has found his way into my house!” exclaimed the centurion.  “I bear Caesar’s commission, and I am to exterminate ill vagabonds that trouble the dwellers in the oasis, or travellers in the desert.  Thus run the orders which I brought with me from Rome.  I will drive the low fellows together like deer for hunting, for they are all rogues and villains, and I shall know how to torture them until I find the right one.”

“The emperor will ill-requite you for that,” replied Petrus.  “They are pious Christians, and you know that Constantine himself—­”

“Constantine!” exclaimed the centurion scornfully.  “Perhaps he will let himself be baptized, for water can hurt no one, and he cannot, like the great Diocletian, exterminate the masses who run after the crucified miracle-monger, without depopulating the country.  Look at these coins; here is the image of Caesar, and what is this on the other side?  Is this your Nazarene, or is it the old god, the immortal and invincible sun?  And is that man one of your creed, who in Constantinople adores Tyche and the Dioscuri Castor and Pollux?  The water he is baptized with to-day he will wipe away to-morrow, and the old gods will be his defenders, if in more peaceful times he maintains them against your superstitions.”

“But it will be a good while till then,” said Perrus coolly.  “For the present, at least, Constantine is the protector of the Christians.  I advise you to put your affair into the hands of Bishop Agapitus.”

“That he may serve me up a dish of your doctrine, which is bad even for women,” said the centurion laughing; “and that I may kiss my enemies’ feet?  They are a vile rabble up there, I repeat it, and they shall be treated as such till I have found my man.  I shall begin the hunt this very day.”

“And this very day you may end it, for the sheepskin is mine.”

It was Paulus who spoke these words in a loud and decided tone; all eyes were at once turned on him and on the centurion.

Petrus and the slaves had frequently seen the anchorite, but never without a sheepskin similar to that which Phoebicius held in his hand.  The anchorite’s self-accusation must have appeared incredible, and indeed scarcely possible, to all who knew Paulus and Sirona; and nevertheless no one, not even the senator, doubted it for an instant.  Dame Dorothea only shook her head incredulously, and though she could find no explanation for the occurrence, she still could not but say to herself, that this man did not look like a lover, and that Sirona would hardly have forgotten her duty for his sake.  She could not indeed bring herself to believe in Sirona’s guilt at all, for she was heartily well disposed towards her; besides—­though it, no doubt, was not right—­her motherly vanity inclined her to believe that if the handsome young woman had indeed sinned, she would have preferred her fine tall Polykarp—­whose roses and flaming glances she blamed in all sincerity—­to this shaggy, wild-looking graybeard.