The story goes on in the same romantic style. But a sudden change comes over the whole temper of the nation, from the highest to the lowest. Impiety, recklessness, and cowardice give place to reverence, prudence, and constancy. The Capitol, the last hope of Rome, is to be held by its picked warriors. No one is to consume its scanty stores who cannot contribute his full share to its defence. The populace obey without a murmur, and flock out of the city, seeking a refuge where they may, or remain to await their doom. The old nobles who have borne high office, consuls, prætors, and senators, will not leave the city but will abide, each in his robes of office and chair of state, the coming of the foe; the holy things from temple and shrine are either buried or conveyed to some place of safety. Now all is dignity as before all was disgrace. The story goes on in the same romantic style--the venerable old men, treated at first with reverence, are slaughtered when one of them resents with a blow of his ivory sceptre a barbarian's too familiar touch. The Capitol is closely invested, resolutely defended, but almost lost by the carelessness of the sentries. The besiegers had either observed the track of one of the messengers who had carried some communication from the garrison to the outer world, or had discovered the place where the ascent was not too difficult to attempt. They make the venture one moonlight night--one would think that the moonlight would be more of a hindrance than a help--and almost succeed. The watch has neglected its duty; the very dogs are asleep. But Roman piety saves the last refuge of Rome. There was a flock of sacred geese in the temple of Juno, and these had been not only spared but fed, hard pressed as the garrison had been for food. And now they give warning of the enemy's approach. Manlius, one of the most distinguished veterans in the garrison, for he had been Consul, is roused by their clamour, hurries to the edge of the height, hurls one man down by driving his shield into his face, slays others, and gives the garrison time to assemble. But though the Capitol is not to be taken by force, it cannot stand out against hunger. Negotiations are opened, for the Gauls have somehow given it to be understood that they are ready to depart if a sufficient price can be paid. A thousand pounds weight of gold is agreed upon for the ransom. As the weighing is going on one of the Romans complains that the weights are unfair. Thereupon the insolent Gaul throws his sword into the scale, uttering words that were beyond all bearing to a Roman ear, "Woe to the vanquished!"