atmosphere
beneath them had a curious reddish tinge, a sheen that wavered
unsteadily, a red smoking fog. He tore open the window, fire had broken
out in the direction of the councilor's. Down the stairs, down the
street as fast as he could; down a cross-street, through a side-street,
and then straight ahead. As yet he could not see anything, but as he
turned round the corner he saw the red glow of fire. About a score of
people clattered singly down the street. As they ran past each other,
they asked where the fire was. The answer was "The sugar-refinery."
Mogens kept on running as quickly as before, but much easier at heart.
Still a few streets, there were more and more people, and they
were talking now of the soap-factory. It lay directly opposite the
councilor's. Mogens ran on as if possessed. There was only a
single slanting cross-street left. It was quite filled with people:
well-dressed men, ragged old women who stood talking in a slow, whining
tone, yelling apprentices, over-dressed girls who whispered to each
other, corner-loafers who stood as if rooted to the spot and cracked
jokes, surprised drunkards and drunkards who quarreled, helpless
policemen, and carriages that would go neither forwards nor backwards.
Mogens forced his way through the multitude. Now he was at the corner;
the sparks were slowly falling down upon him. Up the street; there
were showers of sparks, the window-panes on both sides were aglow, the
factory was burning, the councilor's house was burning and the house
next door also. There was nothing but smoke, fire and confusion, cries,
curses, tiles that rattled down, blows of axes, wood that splintered,
window-panes that jingled, jets of water that hissed, spluttered, and
splashed, and amid all this the regular dull sob-like throb of the
engines. Furniture, bedding, black helmets, ladders, shining buttons,
illuminated faces, wheels, ropes, tarpaulin, strange instruments; Mogens
rushed into their midst, over, under it all, forward to the house.

The facade was brightly illuminated by the flames from the burning
factory, smoke issued from between the tiles of the roof and rolled
out of the open windows of the first story. Within the fire rumbled and
crackled. There was a slow groaning sound, that turned into a rolling
and crashing, and ended in a dull boom. Smoke, sparks, and flames issued
in torment out of all the openings of the house. And then the flames
began to play and crackle with redouble