“Now be a sensible fellow, as you are when you choose,” said his uncle; “look the matter in the face, do. You cannot wrestle with impossibilities, you cannot make facts to pattern. There are lawful religions, there are illicit. Christianity is illicit; it is not tolerated; that’s not your fault; you cannot help it; you would, if you could; you can’t. Now you have observed your point of honour; you have shown you can stand up like a man, and suffer for your own fancy. Still Rome does not give way; and you must make the best of it. You must give in, and you are far too good (I don’t compliment, I speak my mind), far too amiable, excellent, sweet a boy for so rascally a superstition.”

“There is something stronger than Rome,” said the nephew almost sternly.

Jucundus cut him short. “Agellius!” he said, “you must not say that in this house. You shall not use that language under my roof. I’ll not put up with it, I tell you. Take your treason elsewhere…. This accursed obstinacy!” he said to himself; “but I must take care what I am doing;” then aloud, “Well, we both of us have been railing; no good comes of railing; railing is not argument. But now, I say, do be sensible, if you can. Is not the imperial government in earnest now? better late than never, but it is now in earnest. And now mark my words, by this day five years, five years at the utmost,—I say by this day five years there will not be a single ragamuffin Christian in the whole Roman world.” And he looked fierce. “Ye gods! Rome, Rome has swept from the earth by her very breath conspiracies, confederacies, plots against her, without ever failing; she will do so now with this contemptible, Jew-begotten foe.”

“In what are we enemies to Rome, Jucundus?” said Agellius; “why will you always take it for granted?”