In a few moments she gathered enough from the words of the Goths congregated about this part of the camp to assure her that it was the Pincian Gate which had given egress to the Roman suppliants, and which would therefore, in all probability, be the entrance again thrown open to admit their return to the city.

Remembering this, she began to calculate the numbers of the conquered enemy grouped together before the king's tent, and then mentally added to them those who might be present at the interview proceeding within--mechanically withdrawing herself, while thus occupied, nearer and nearer to the waste ground before the city walls.
Gradually she turned her face towards Rome: she was realising a daring purpose, a fatal resolution, long cherished during the days and nights of her solitary wanderings.

'The ranks of the embassy,' she muttered, in a deep, thoughtful tone, 'are thickly filled.

Where there are many there must be confusion and haste; they march together, and know not their own numbers; they mark not one more or one less among them.' She stopped.

Strange and dark changes of colour and expression passed over her ghastly features.