They moved uneasily in their places, and whispered among each other in low and bitter accents.
At length one of their number raised his downcast eyes and broke the silence.

The old Roman spirit, which long years of voluntary frivolity and degradation had not yet entirely depraved, flushed his pale, wasted face as he spoke thus:-- 'We have entreated, we have offered, we have promised--men can do no more! Deserted by our Emperor and crushed by pestilence and famine, nothing is now left to us but to perish in unavailing resistance beneath the walls of Rome! It was in the power of Alaric to win everlasting renown by moderation to the unfortunate of an illustrious nation; but he has preferred to attempt the spoiling of a glorious city and the subjugation of a suffering people! Yet let him remember, though destruction may sate his vengeance, and pillage enrich his hoards, the day of retribution will yet come.

There are still soldiers in the empire, and heroes who will lead them confidently to battle, though the bodies of their countrymen lie slaughtered around them in the streets of pillaged Rome!' A momentary expression of wrath and indignation appeared on Alaric's features as he listened to this bold speech; but it was almost immediately replaced by a scornful smile of derision.
'What! ye have still soldiers before whom the barbarian must tremble for his conquests!' he cried.

'Where are they?
Are they on their march, or in ambush, or hiding behind strong walls, or have they lost their way on the road to the Gothic camp?
Ha! here is one of them!' he exclaimed, advancing towards an enfeebled and disarmed guard of the Senate, who quailed beneath his fierce glance.

'Fight, man!' he loudly continued; 'fight while there is yet time, for imperial Rome! Thy sword is gone--take mine, and be a hero again!' With a rough laugh, echoed by the warriors behind him, he flung his ponderous weapon as he spoke towards the wretched object of his sarcasm.