When the tumult had subsided, the pontiff of Moloch rose:
"We ask you why you did not return to Carthage?"
"What is that to you?" replied the Suffet disdainfully.
Their shouts were redoubled.
"Of what do you accuse me? I managed the war badly, perhaps! You have
seen how I order my battles, you who conveniently allow Barbarians--"
"Enough! enough!"
He went on in a low voice so as to make himself the better listened to:
"Oh! that is true! I am wrong, lights of the Baals; there are intrepid
men among you! Gisco, rise!" And surveying the step of the altar with
half-closed eyelids, as if he sought for some one, he repeated:
"Rise, Gisco! You can accuse me; they will protect you! But where is
he?" Then, as if he remembered himself: "Ah! in his house, no doubt!
surrounded by his sons, commanding his slaves, happy, and counting on
the wall the necklaces of honour which his country has given to him!"
They moved about raising their shoulders as if they were being scourged
with thongs. "You do not even know whether he is living or dead!" And
without giving any heed to their clamours he said that in deserting the
Suffet they had deserted the Republic. So, too, the peace with Rome,
however advantageous it might appear to them, was more fatal than twenty
battles.
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