Suddenly he ceased in his ravings; a loud crash as of crumbling walls had rent the air, followed by shrieks and loud hissing sounds and that perpetual cry, awesome in its weird monotony:
"Death to the Cæsar! Death!"
Caligula's face was contorted with terror, his cheeks were grey like those of the dead. He made a quick movement forward and suddenly clutched Dea's wrist.
"Dost hear them?" he said in a hoarse whisper.
And she nodded in response.
"They want to kill me ... they have set fire to my house ... I escaped through the crypta.... But they were hard on my heels...."
And as if to confirm his words, the cries of "Death!" again rose in the air; the tramping of feet, the angry murmurs became more loud and appeared to be filling the street close by and tending toward the very door of Dea Flavia's house.
"Ah, monsters! miserable monsters!" shouted the Cæsar, crazy with fear, "to-morrow will come the awful reprisals ... to-morrow ..."
"To-day," broke in Dea Flavia coldly, "the Cæsar is in danger of his life."
"They'll kill me," he cried, whilst once more trembling—akin to palsy—seized his limbs. "They'll kill me, Augusta ... hide me, hide me ere they come."