The Serapeum lay to their right, several streets leading to it from the street of the Sun.

To reach the house where Eusebius lived they ought to have turned down the street of the Acropolis, but a compact mass of frenzied creatures came storming down it from the Serapeum, and towards them.

The sun was now fast setting over the City of the Dead on the western horizon.

Marcus tried to get out of the middle of the road and place Dada in safety by the house at the corner, but in vain; the rabble that came crowding out of the side street was mad with excitement, and could think of nothing but the trophies it had snatched from the temple.

Several dozen men, black and white alike--and among them some monks and even women, had harnessed themselves to an enormous truck, commonly used for the carriage of beams, columns, and heavy blocks of stone, on which they had erected a huge but shapeless mass of wood, the core, and all that remained, of the image of Serapis; this they were dragging through the streets.
"To the Hippodrome! Burn it! Down with the idols! Look at the divine form of Serapis! Behold the god!" These were the cries that rent the air from a thousand throats, an ear-splitting accompaniment to the surging storm of humanity.
The monks had torn the desecrated block from the niche in the Serapeum, hauled it through the courts on to the steps, and were now taking it to the arena where it was to be burnt.