The news that terms of peace had been at last settled filled the Romans
who were waiting before the tent with emotions of delight, equally
unalloyed by reflections on the past or forebodings for the future.
Barred from their reckless project of flying to the open country by the
Goths surrounding them in the camp, shut out from retreating to Rome by
the gates through which they had rashly forced their way, exposed in
their helplessness to the brutal jeers of the enemy while they waited in
a long agony of suspense for the close of the perilous interview between
Alaric and the Senate, they had undergone every extremity of suffering,
and had yielded unanimously to despair when the intelligence of the
concluded treaty sounded like a promise of salvation in their ears.
None of the apprehensions aroused in the minds of their superiors by the
vastness of the exacted tribute now mingled with the unreflecting
ecstasy of their joy at the prospect of the removal of the blockade.
They arose to return to the city from which they had fled in dismay,
with cries of impatience and delight.
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