She tottered to the door, and, closing it behind her, fell senseless into Aspa's arms.
During all this time, the mysteriously threatening appearance of the atmosphere had increased.
The little cloud which Cethegus had remarked the day before, had been the forerunner of an immense black wall of vapour which had arisen in the east during the night, and which, since morning, had hovered gloomily, as if brooding destruction, over the city and the greater part of the horizon.
In the south, however, the sun shone with an intolerable heat from a cloudless sky.
The Gothic sentries had doffed their helmets and armour; they preferred to expose themselves to the arrows of the enemy rather than suffer the unbearable heat.
There was not a breath of air. The east wind, which had brought up the wall of cloud, had dropped again.
The sea was grey and motionless; not a leaf of the poplars in the palace garden moved.
The animal world, silent the day before, was uneasy and terrified. Over the hot sands on the shore swallows, seagulls, and marsh-birds fluttered hither and thither, without cause or aim, flying low above the ground, and often uttering shrill cries.
In the city the dogs ran whining out of the houses; the horses tore themselves loose from their halters and, snorting impatiently, kicked and pranced; cats, asses, and mules uttered lamentable cries; and three of the dromedaries belonging to Belisarius killed themselves in their frantic efforts to get loose.
Evening was approaching. The sun was about to sink below the horizon.