"Mercy, mercy!" prayed the slave. "Have pity upon us, ye great gods!"
"No, no mercy--a curse upon us miserable mortals! Ha! that was splendid! Dost thou hear how they scream with fear in the streets? Another, and yet another! Ha! ye gods--if there be a God or gods--I envy ye but one thing: the power of your hate and your deadly lightning. Ye hurl it with all the rage and lust of your hearts, and your enemies vanish. Then you laugh; the thunder is your laughter. Ha! what was that!"
A flash and a peal of thunder which outdid all that had gone before.
Aspa started from her knees.
"What is that great building, Aspa? That dark mass opposite? The lightning must have struck it. Is it on fire?"
"No, thanks to the gods! The lightning only lit it up. It is the granaries of the King."
"Ha! has your lightning failed?" cried the Queen. "But mortals, too, can use the lightning of revenge." And she left the window. The room became suddenly dark.
"Queen--mistress--where art thou? Whither hast thou gone?" cried Aspa. And she felt along the walls.
But the room was empty, and Aspa called her mistress in vain.
Below in the streets a procession wound its way to the Basilica of Saint Apollonaris.