Cecilia’s logic was incontrovertible and the Prefect lost his temper at once. He reproached her with what he called her insolence, boasted of his authority, tried to frighten her with threats, was drawn into arguments as to the existence of the pagan gods and their power to punish those who should resist them; as to the “invincibility of the Emperors,” and other points, on every one of which the highly educated, intellectual girl, calm as an Angel, and relying on God to sustain her, confounded him publicly, to the great delight, and as she intended, to the edification and instruction of her hearers. Conscious that he was losing ground every moment, Almachius floundered and blundered on till Cecilia closed the interview by saying: “Since you first opened your mouth you have not uttered a word which I have not proved to be either unjust or unreasonable.” Then, as concisely and coolly as a lawyer conducting a case, she summed up her proofs of the dead nothingness of the pagan idols, and ended with these words: “Christ alone can save from death, and deliver the guilty from eternal fire.” There ensued a long silence, during which Almachius considered how he could do away with her with the least amount of publicity and scandal. In his mind he already heard the Emperor’s stinging reprimand for his folly in provoking a scene which could only result in casting obloquy on the deities worshipped (or rather patronised) by Alexander himself, and in the condemnation of a beautiful and virtuous lady beloved by all the people. Cecilia stood undisturbed while her enemy pondered her fate. She had done with earth; she had vindicated Heaven; her thoughts were there. At last Almachius gave some whispered orders to his satellites, and Cecilia, in her litter, since no Roman lady could walk through the public streets, carried by her devoted, heart-broken servants, was sent back to her palace under a heavy guard, among whom were those who had consented to act as her executioners. These hurried to that one of the marble bathrooms called the “calidarium,” disposed to produce the fierce heat of a steam bath. The opening in the gilded ceiling, intended to moderate the temperature when necessary, was hermetically closed, and every conduit and furnace heated to raging point. When the suffocating fumes had so filled the place that no one dared go in, Cecilia was commanded to enter. She passed in, smiling, and was lost to view in the dense cloud of steam; then the entrance was closed and a guard set over it that none of those who were mourning and weeping all through the halls and courts of the palace might either set her free or share her end. For the rest of the day and all the ensuing night the tormentors continued to pile the fires, till it seemed as if the heat must crack the very marble. No sound came from the sealed room, and at sunrise the next day the executioners were convinced that their work was done. Nothing mortal could survive in that furnace.