Back she went to the peristyle, and ran round it to her right. Under the roof of the colonnade she was safe from the rain of brands, but even in there the heat was appalling. She felt as if the very marble columns must crumble beside her as she ran.
At the far corner of the courtyard she dashed through a door and ran up two flights of stairs; a short flight in front of her, and a longer flight to her left from the landing of the first. At the top of the stairs she passed through four rooms. In the fifth, lighted from behind her through a door by an orange glow from the glare of the conflagration, she sank down on the floor against its farther wall.
Almost at once she was on her feet, recoiling from the wall. It quivered with the shock of blows from the outside.
A shower of plaster and bits of brick stung her face and spattered all over her.
She saw the point of a pick-axe shine an instant in the fire-glare.
“I’m here,” she called. “I’m safe. Take your time. It’s not hot in here yet.” The excited blows thudded on the wall. The sledges broke a hole as big as her head, four times as big as her head.
“Take your time!” she repeated. “There is no hurry now.” Soon she could see the torches outside, the faces of the firemen, Almo’s face.
“No!” she said, “I won’t be dragged through a crevice. There is plenty of time. Dig that hole bigger!” When it was large enough to suit her she bade her rescuers back away.
“No man must touch what I carry,” she warned.
Outside, in Almo’s arms, she was hurried through winding alleys, up narrow stone stairways, to the Palace.