"Save me, Zeus; save me, Apollo; save me, Hermes; save me, O God of the Christians! I will leave Rome, I will return to Mesembria, but save me from the hands of that demon!" And that Lygian who had killed Croton seemed to him at that moment some superhuman being.

While running, he thought that he might be some god who had taken the form of a barbarian.

At that moment he believed in all the gods of the world, and in all myths, at which he jeered usually.

It flew through his head, too, that it might be the God of the Christians who had killed Croton; and his hair stood on end again at the thought that he was in conflict with such a power.
Only when he had run through a number of alleys, and saw some workmen coming toward him from a distance, was he calmed somewhat.

Breath failed in his breast; so he sat on the threshold of a house and began to wipe, with a corner of his mantle, his sweat-covered forehead.
"I am old, and need calm," said he.
The people coming toward him turned into some little side street, and again the place round about was empty.