The ceremonial became disorganised, and the augurs smiled among themselves a satisfied smile. When the entrails of the dead bulls were opened Julian, being skilled in magic, saw at a glance terrifying omens in the organs. He turned aside, his brow dark with wrath, attempting but failing to assume carelessness. Turning again he approached the altar and spurned it violently with his foot. The altar reeled, but did not fall. The crowd uttered deep sighs and the prefect Sallustius rushed towards the Emperor, whispering-- "The men are looking! It would be better to cut short the sacrifice...." Julian waved him away, and overturned the altar with his foot. The embers were scattered and the fire extinguished, but the fragrant smoke still thickly ascended. "Woe, woe upon us! The altar is profaned!" groaned a voice. "I tell you he is mad," growled Hormizdas, grasping Dagalaïf's arm. "Look at him.... How is it that the rest don't see it?" The Etruscan augurs watched the proceedings, motionless, with imperturbable faces. Julian's eyes kindled and he raised his arms to the sky. He cried-- "I swear by the eternal joy, locked here, in my heart, I renounce You, as you have renounced me! I abandon you as you have abandoned me, impotent Deities! Single-handed against you, phantom Olympians, I am like unto you, but not your equal, because I am a man and you are only gods!... Long, long has my heart aspired to this deliverance; and now I break our alliance, laugh at my superstitious terrors, at your childish oracles. I was living like a slave, and I might have died a slave! I understand that I am stronger than the gods, because, vowed to death, I have conquered death! No melancholy, no fear, no victims, no prayer! All that is past. Henceforth in my life there shall not be a single shade, nor trembling. Nothing! except that everlasting Olympian smile which I have learnt from you, the Dead! Nothing, but the sacred fire of which I rob you, O Immortals! Mine be the cloudless sky in which you have dwelt till now, and from which you have died, to give place to man-gods! Maximus! Maximus! you were right; over my soul your mind hovers still...." An augur of ninety years old put his hand on the shoulder of the Emperor. "Speak lower, my son, speak lower. If thou hast understood the mystery, rejoice in silence! Tempt not the crowd. Those who hear thee cannot understand." The general murmurs of indignation became louder. "He's raving," said Hormizdas to Dagalaïf. "Take him to his tent, or all will go ill!" Oribazius, like the devoted physician that he was, took Julian's hand and began to persuade him soothingly. "Well-beloved Augustus, you must take rest. There are dangerous fevers in this country. Come into the tent. The sun is hurtful.... Your illness may get worse!" The Emperor looked at him with a pre-occupied air.