had been whispering apart with Rinaldo Frangipani, now
said--

"Noble Prince, listen to me. You are bound by your kinsman's approaching
connection, your venerable age, and your intimacy with the Pontiff, to
a greater caution than we are. Leave to us the management of the
enterprise, and be assured of our discretion."

A young boy, Stefanello, who afterwards succeeded to the representation
of the direct line of the Colonna, and whom the reader will once again
encounter ere our tale be closed, was playing by his grandsire's knees.
He looked sharply up at Savelli, and said, "My grandfather is too wise,
and you are too timid. Frangipani is too yielding, and Orsini is too
like a vexed bull. I wish I were a year or two older."

"And what would you do, my pretty censurer?" said the smooth Savelli,
biting his smiling lip.

"Stab the Tribune with my own stiletto, and then hey for Palestrina!"

"The egg will hatch a brave serpent," quoth the Savelli. "Yet why so
bitter against the Tribune, my cockatrice?"

"Because he allowed an insolent mercer to arrest my uncle Agapet for
debt. The debt had been owed these ten years; and though it is said that
no house in Rome has owed more money than the Colonna, this is the first
time I ever heard of a rascally creditor being allowed to claim his debt
unless with doffed cap and bended knee. And I say that I would not live
to be a Baron, if such upstart insolence is to be put upon me."

"My child," said old Stephen, laughing heartily, "I see our noble order
will be safe enough in your hands."

"And," continued the child, emboldened by the applause he received, "if
I had time after pricking the Tribune, I would fain have a second stroke
at--"

"Whom?" said the Savelli, observing the boy pause.

"My cousin Adrian. Shame on him, for dreaming to make one a wife whose
birth would scarce fit her for a Colonna's leman!"

"Go play, my child--go play," said the old Colonna, as he pushed the boy
from him.

"Enough of this babble," cried the Orsini, rudely. "Tell me, old lord;
just as I entered, I saw an old friend (one of your former mercenaries)
quit the palace--may I crave his errand?"

"Ah, yes; a messenger from Fra Moreale. I wrote to the Knight, reproving
him for his desertion on our ill-starred return from Corneto, and
intimating that five hundred lances would be highly paid for just now."

"Ah," said Savelli; "and what is his answer!"

"Oh, wily and evasive: He is profuse in com