It is useless to conceal it from myself any longer, and what I admit to myself must also be confessed to you, my Paulus, my second self, at the same moment. Alas, I fear you read it long ago from these words in prose and verse.

I beseech you not to shake your cool, cautious head as usual over your "too youthful" Ausonius: I hope my heart will throb warmly till it ceases to beat.

I know all you will say--of course against it. For you would speak in favor only if you had seen her. Yet I rejoice that you are not here: I have no desire to be warned.

True, it is one thing to toy with the sweet illusion within my own breast and to the friend who will keep my secret; and quite another to transfer it to practical reality.

My thoughts are contradictory. I am fifty--ah no; fifty-two years old! But what happiness it will be for the young girl to share not only my wealth but the whole Latin civilization with me! She is a pagan. Pshaw! The baptismal water will no more wash away her charm than it has driven the pagan Muses from me. She can believe after baptism precisely what she believed before. And she shall offer sacrifices to golden Aphrodite and to Hymen!

I hesitate. She is very fond of me, but I often find her dreaming, gazing out with yearning eyes beyond the walls of the camp: strangely enough, it is not eastward in the direction of her home, but always toward the northwest. At that point the wall rises almost to the height of her huge pine tree, whose branches reach the ground: I again found her hidden among them yesterday. She climbs so far up among the boughs that she can look over the wall to the distant hills, and hides among the dense foliage like a martin.

I discovered her with much difficulty,--twilight was gathering,--and when at my call she slipped down I thought I saw tears in her eyes. But the crimson glow of sunset had probably dazzled me; I did not see them when she stood on the ground by my side, though she looked graver than usual.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Liberty," was her swift answer.

Perhaps I looked perplexed or angry, for she went on hastily: "Forgive me! I was foolish. I know that if you set me free now, before the close of the war, I might fall into the hands of other Romans before reaching my people. And I am not ungrateful. How kind you are to me! Yet I often feel so homesick--for--for--oh, I don't know myself!"

Then I said in jest,--for never before, and even now not seriously, had the idea entered my mind,--"For a lover?"

She started back like a little red serpent. I have never seen her so angry, though the hot temper of the little creature boils over often enough. She stamped her tiny foot, the blood crimsoned her cheeks, and she vehemently exclaimed:

"A lover? The 'red biting cat'? I have no heart! How should I love?"

Then turning her back on me defiantly she ran off to her tent and did not appear again that evening. But I am glad to learn from her own lips that no bond of affection will hold her fast in this Barbarian land, if I really decide to take her with me to Burdigala.

This possible obstacle to my wishes entered my thoughts rather late, you will tell me. But it was because I considered her a child so long. Later I daily felt in my own heart the feeling within growing stronger. No, no, this girl is a child no longer, but a maiden ready for her bridal.

The sweet wish--I scarcely repress it--is rapidly maturing. And with this dear girl I shall be sure of one thing: she will not marry me for my wealth, which I anxiously fear from our Gallic maidens. As to the widows, I feel gripes in my stomach whenever I think of them.

I will be cautious not to startle the timid child; for how can the Barbarian maiden dream of such an honor as even being invited as my guest to Burdigala? It is inconceivable that she should refuse: now that she has grown to womanhood. If she does, then--But no, surely it will not be necessary. And when she has once tasted the rich, beautiful life there, she will no longer desire to return to this wilderness. Then ere long I can read aloud to her these verses which now I dare entrust only to my friend:

How do you like them, my dear friend? I hope they are not bad. At least they please me extremely, and you know I am not vain.

Now imagine how these melodious lines must gratify her--her who is their inspiration.