Richard Garnett, The Twilight of the Gods, and Other Tales
“ Manto sat on the rampart, still and silent as its stones. Anon she rose, and roved about as if distraught, reciting verses from Virgil. Night had fallen. Benedetto lay wakeful in his cell. A female figure stood before him bearing a lamp. It was Manto. “Benedetto,” she said, “I am a wretch, faithless to my country and to my master. I did but even now open his sacred volume at hazard, and on what did my eye first fall? Trojaque nunc stares, Priamique arx alta maneres. But I can no other. I am a woman. May Mantua never entrust her fortunes to the like of me again! ”
