CATILINE. [Surprised.] A vestal,—say you? Ah, what do you mean?
LENTULUS. Why, yes, a vestal. Many people murmur—
CATILINE. What do they murmur?
CETHEGUS. That in this dark affair You are not altogether innocent.
CATILINE. This they believe of me?
LENTULUS. Such is the rumor; Of course,—to us, to all your good old friends, Such talk is trifling and of no account;— The world, however, judges more severely.
CATILINE. [Deep in thought.] And is she dead?
CETHEGUS. Undoubtedly she is. An hour's confinement in the convict tomb Is quite enough—
LENTULUS. That is not our affair. It was not therefore that we spoke of her. But hear me, Catiline! Bethink yourself. You sought the consulate; and all your welfare Hung on that single fragile thread of hope. Now is it sundered; everything is lost.
CATILINE. [Still deep in thought.] "Vengeance you have invoked on your own head!"