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:

"Bissula, fair maid born and reared in the cold land beyond
the Rhine,
Bissula, who bloomed so near the source of the Danube:
Captive of war, thou hast, when released from bondage, made captive
Thy conqueror: his heart became the prisoner's booty.
Of a mother's care bereft, ne'er hast thou suffered a mistress:
When thou a captive wast made, a mistress thou didst become,
Though thou by Roman favor, O German, wast thus transformed.
Still hast thou thine eyes' deep azure, still hast thou
thy hair's red gold.
Dual thou seemest now, and with dual charms adorn
Latium's tongue thy mind, and Suabia's grace thy form."

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.

CHAPTER XXV.

The morning after Ausonius had made this last entry in his diary,
Bissula, as usual, shared the first meal in his tent with the uncle and
nephew. The Prefect of Gaul was in excellent spirits, often jested,
talked a great