"I was in the last chamber of the baths; and the rumbling sounds of the street caused a sleep to fall upon me.
"Suddenly I heard a clamour of voices. Men were shouting—'It is a magician!—it is the Devil!' And the crowd stopped before our house, in front of the Temple Æsculapius. I drew myself up with my hands to the little window.
"Upon the peristyle of the temple, there stood a man who wore about his neck a collar of iron. He took burning coals out of a chafing-dish, and with them drew lines across his breast, the while crying out—'Jesus! Jesus!' The people shouted—'This is not lawful! let us stone him!' But he continued. Oh! those were unheard of marvels—things which transported men who beheld them! Flowers broad as suns circled before my eyes, and I heard in the spaces above me the vibrations of a golden harp. Day died. My hands loosened their grasp of the window-bars; my body fell back, and when he had led me away to his house...."
Anthony. "But of whom art thou speaking?"
Priscilla. "Why, of Montanus!"
Anthony. "Montanus is dead!"
Priscilla. "It is not true!"
A Voice. "No: Montanus is not dead!"