so Chilo, in whose terror he sought
to find amusement, drove the steeds himself, and, advancing at a walk,
looked at the burning bodies, and heard the shouts of the multitude.
Standing on the lofty gilded chariot, surrounded by a sea of people who
bent to his feet, in the glitter of the fire, in the golden crown of
a circus-victor, he was a head above the courtiers and the crowd. He
seemed a giant. His immense arms, stretched forward to hold the reins,
seemed to bless the multitude. There was a smile on his face and in his
blinking eyes; he shone above the throng as a sun or a deity, terrible
but commanding and mighty.

At times he stopped to look with more care at some maiden whose bosom
had begun to shrink in the flames, or at the face of a child distorted
by convulsions; and again he drove on, leading behind him a wild,
excited retinue. At times he bowed to the people, then again he bent
backward, drew in the golden reins, and spoke to Tigellinus. At last,
when he had reached the great fountain in the middle of two crossing
streets, he stepped from the quadriga, and, nodding to his attendants,
mingled with the throng.

He was greeted with shouts and plaudits. The bacchantes, the nymphs, the
senators and Augustians, the priests, the fauns, satyrs, and soldiers
surrounded him at once in an excited circle; but he, with Tigellinus on
one side and Chilo on the other, walked around the fountain, about which
were burning some tens of torches; stopping before each one, he made
remarks on the victims, or jeered at the old Greek, on whose face
boundless despair was depicted.

At last he stood before a lofty mast decked with myrtle and ivy. The red
tongues of fire had risen only to the knees of the victim; but it was
impossible to see his face, for the green burning twigs had covered it
with smoke. After a while, however, the light breeze of night turned
away the smoke and uncovered the head of a man with gray beard falling
on his breast.

At sight of him Chilo was twisted into a lump like a wounded snake, and
from his mouth came a cry more like cawing than a human voice.

"Glaucus! Glaucus!"

In fact, Glaucus the physician looked down from the burning pillar at
him. Glaucus was alive yet. His face expressed pain, and was inclined
forward, as if to look closely for the last time at his executioner,
at the man who had betrayed him, robbed him of wife and children, set a
murderer on him, and who, when all this had been for