m with
burning breath, now surrounding him with fresh clouds of smoke, now
covering him with sparks, which fell on his hair, neck, and clothing.
The tunic began to smoulder on him in places; he cared not, but ran
forward lest he might be stifled from smoke. He had the taste of soot
and burning in his mouth; his throat and lungs were as if on fire. The
blood rushed to his head, and at moments all things, even the smoke
itself, seemed red to him.

Then he thought: "This is living fire! Better throw myself upon the
ground and quickly perish." The running tortured him more and more. His
head, neck, and shoulders were streaming with sweat, which scalded like
boiling water.

But he ran on as if drunk, staggering from one side of the street to the
other. Meanwhile something changed in that monstrous conflagration which
had embraced the giant city. Everything which till then had only
glimmered, burst forth visibly into one sea of flame; the wind had
ceased to bring smoke. That smoke which had collected in the streets
was borne away by a mad whirl of heated air. That whirl drove with it
millions of sparks, so that Vinicius was running in a fiery cloud, as it
were. But he was able to see before him all the better, and in a moment,
almost when he was ready to fall, he saw the end of the street. That
sight gave him fresh strength. Passing the corner, he found himself in a
street which led to the Via Portuensis and the Codetan Field. The sparks
ceased to drive him. He understood that if he could run to the Via
Portuensis he was safe, even were he to faint on it.

At the end of the street he saw again a cloud, as it seemed, which
stopped the exit. "If that is smoke," thought he, "I cannot pass." He
ran with the remnant of his strength. On the way he threw off his tunic,
which, on fire from the sparks, was burning him like the shirt of
Nessus, having only a _capitium_ around his head and before his mouth.
When he had run farther, he saw that what he had taken for smoke was
dust, from which rose a multitude of cries and voices.

"The rabble are plundering houses," thought Vinicius. But he ran toward
the voices. In any case people were there; they might assist him. In
this hope he shouted for aid with all his might before he reached them.
But this was his last effort. It grew redder still in his eyes, breath
failed his lungs, strength failed his bones; he fell.

They heard him, however, or rather saw him. Two men ran with gourds fu