The clamour of the people, continuous as the noise of the sea, floated vaguely around the feast, and seemed to lull it in a broader harmony; some recalled the banquet of the Mercenaries; they gave themselves up to dreams of happiness; the sun was beginning to go down, and the crescent of the moon was already rising in another part of the sky.
But Salammbo turned her head as though some one had called her; the people, who were watching her, followed the direction of her eyes.
The door of the dungeon, hewn in the rock at the foot of the temple, on the summit of the Acropolis, had just opened; and a man was standing on the threshold of this black hole.
He came forth bent double, with the scared look of fallow deer when suddenly enlarged.
The light dazzled him; he stood motionless awhile.

All had recognised him, and they held their breath.
In their eyes the body of this victim was something peculiarly theirs, and was adorned with almost religious splendour.

They bent forward to see him, especially the women.

They burned to gaze upon him who had caused the deaths of their children and husbands; and from the bottom of their souls there sprang up in spite of themselves an infamous curiosity, a desire to know him completely, a wish mingled with remorse which turned to increased execration.
At last he advanced; then the stupefaction of surprise disappeared.
Numbers of arms were raised, and he was lost to sight.
The staircase of the Acropolis had sixty steps.

He descended them as though he were rolled down in a torrent from the top of a mountain; three times he was seen to leap, and then he alighted below on his feet.
His shoulders were bleeding, his breast was panting with great shocks; and he made such efforts to burst his bonds that his arms, which were crossed on his naked loins, swelled like pieces of a serpent.
Several streets began in front of him, leading from the spot at which he found himself.