She clenched her fist with hatred and revenge and went on:  “I know what I know—­there are legible and infallible signs, and it is given to me to interpret them, and I tell you:  It is true, unerringly true, as every Alexandrian child has learnt from its nurse:  When Serapis falls the earth will collapse like a dry puff-ball under a horse’s hoof.  A hundred oracles have announced it, it is written in the prophecies of the heavenly bodies, and in the scroll of Fate.  Let them be!  Let it come!  The end is sweet to those who, in the hour of death, can see the enemy thrust the sword into his own breast.”

The old woman sank back panting and gasping for breath, but Gorgo hastened to support her in her arms and she soon recovered.  Hardly had she opened her eyes again than, seeing her son still in the room, she went on angrily: 

“You—­here still?  Do you think there is any time to spare?  They will be waiting, waiting for you!  You have the key and they need weapons.”

“I know what I am about,” replied Porphyrius calmly.  “All in good time.  I shall be on the spot long before the youngsters have assembled.  Cyrus will bring me the pass-words and signs; I shall send off the messengers, and then I shall still be in time for action.”

“Messengers!  To whom?”

“To Barkas.  He is at the head of more than a thousand Libyan peasants and slaves.  I shall send one, too, to Pachomius to bid him win us over adherents among the Biamite fishermen and the population of the eastern Delta.”

“Right, right—­I know.  Twenty talents—­Pachomius is poor—­twenty talents shall be his, out of my private coffer, if only they are here in time.”

“I would give ten, thirty times as much if they were only here now!” cried the merchant, giving way for the first time to the expression of his real feelings.  “When I began life my father taught me the new superstitions.  Its chains still hang about me; but in this fateful hour I feel more strongly than ever, and I mean to show, that I am faithful to the old gods.  We will not be wanting; but alas! there is no escape for us now if the Imperial party are staunch.  If they fall upon us before Barkas can join us, all is lost; if, on the contrary, Barkas comes at once and in time, there is still some hope; all may yet be well.  What can a party of monks do?  And as yet only our Constantine’s heavy cavalry have come to the assistance of the two legions of the garrison.”

“Our Constantine!” shrieked Damia.  “Whose?  I ask you, whose?  We have nothing to do with that miserable Christian!”

But Gorgo turned upon her at once: 

“Indeed, grandmother,” she exclaimed, quivering with rage, “but we have!  He is a soldier and must do his duty; but he is fondly attached to us.”

“Us, us?” retorted the old woman with a laugh.  “Has he sworn love to you, let me ask?  Has he? and you-do you believe him, simple fool?  I know him, I know him!  Why, for a scrap of bread and a drop of wine from the hand of his priest he would see you and all of us plunged into misery!  But see, here are the messengers.”