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The Galileans, sire! They have them!

Hilarion!

They have them! I hear the fetters

Pass them by!

[Hastening through the press.] We have succeeded marvellously, sire.

Who are they, these ruffians?

Some of them belong to this city; but most, it seems, are peasants fleeing from Cappadocia.

I will not see them. Forward, as I commanded!

[Nearer.

Blissful our crowning with martyrdom's jewel; Blissful our meeting with saints gone before.

The madmen. Not so near to me! My guard, my guard!

[''The two processions have meanwhile encountered each other in the crush. The''