“But,” Almo interrupted, “there isn’t an opening towards the New Street. The outer wall of the Atrium towards the Palace is all blank wall to the cornice, not even a ventilation hole anywhere.”
“I know,” she rebuked him; “keep still and listen. I’ll run into the third room from the corner. All that end of the Atrium is of brick and cement, not a beam anywhere and the ceilings are vaulted; the fire will be a long time reaching me there. You go up Pearl Dealers’ Lane to the corner of the New Street. From the corner measure thirty-eight feet along the New Street. At that point have a hole smashed through the wall. There are hordes of firemen about with their axes, sledge-hammers and pick-axes. They’ll hack a hole through for you in no time. The wall is thin there; we had a temporary door made there three years ago for the plumbers when they were putting in the new bath-rooms.
“Now, every moment is precious. Hold my hand and help me to make my dash for the portal, but drop my hand and turn back at the portal; no man may enter the Atrium, except a Pontiff or a workman. When I squeeze your fingers, drop my hand and make your dash back.
“Don’t try to check me, husband; self last and patriotism first, for every Roman of us all. We have waited thirty years for each other and we’ve hardly had time for three kisses yet. But if we must lose each other to save Rome, then we must.
“If I fail, good-bye!” Then she turned and called the trembling slaves to come nearer.
She ordered:
“Dash that water over us, one over him, one over me. Don’t waste any, pour it on our heads. Now go where you please!”
Dripping, hand in hand, they ran over the cinder-strewn pavement, under the rain of blazing fragments, up the Sacred Street, between the furnace-hot walls.
Under the long arcade they were safe.
At its further end she had to face a dash of some ten yards through the blazing brands, the very air seeming on fire.