u to gaze upon. Signora, (turning to one of the Orsini), your lord
has high favour with the Tribune, who destines him to great command.
His fortunes are secured, and we rejoice at it; for no man more loyally
serves the state. Have you seen, fair Lady of Frangipani, the last
verses of Petrarch in honour of my lord?--they rest yonder. May we so
far venture as to request you to point out their beauties to the Signora
di Savelli? We rejoice, noble Lady of Malatesta, to observe that your
eyesight is so well restored. The last time we met, though we stood
next to you in the revels of the Lady Giulia, you seemed scarce to
distinguish us from the pillar by which we stood!"

"Must this insolence be endured!" whispered the Signora Frangipani to
the Signora Malatesta.

"Hush, hush; if ever it be our day again!"

Chapter 4.II. The Blessing of A Councillor Whose Interests and Heart Are
Our Own.--the Straws Thrown Upward,--Do They Portend A Storm.

It was later that day than usual, when Rienzi returned from his tribunal
to the apartments of the palace. As he traversed the reception hall, his
countenance was much flushed; his teeth were set firmly, like a man who
has taken a strong resolution from which he will not be moved; and his
brow was dark with that settled and fearful frown which the
describers of his personal appearance have not failed to notice as the
characteristic of an anger the more deadly because invariably just.
Close as his heels followed the Bishop of Orvietto and the aged Stephen
Colonna. "I tell you, my Lords," said Rienzi, "that ye plead in vain.
Rome knows no distinction between ranks. The law is blind to the
agent--lynx-eyed to the deed."

"Yet," said Raimond, hesitatingly, "bethink thee, Tribune; the nephew of
two cardinals, and himself once a senator."

Rienzi halted abruptly, and faced his companions. "My Lord Bishop," said
he, "does not this make the crime more inexcusable? Look you, thus it
reads:--A vessel from Avignon to Naples, charged with the revenues of
Provence to Queen Joanna, on whose cause, mark you, we now hold solemn
council, is wrecked at the mouth of the Tiber; with that, Martino
di Porto--a noble, as you say--the holder of that fortress whence
he derives his title,--doubly bound by gentle blood and by immediate
neighbourhood to succour the oppressed--falls upon the vessel with his
troops (what hath the rebel with armed troops?)--and pillages the
vessel like a common robber. He is ap