he Lady
of Gianni, Stephen's son. "She was wont to grace our halls, and we miss
much her stately presence."

"Madam, my Lord's mother is unwell!"

"Is she so? We will send for her more welcome news. Methinks we are
deserted today."

As she spoke, she carelessly dropped her handkerchief--the haughty dame
of the Colonna bent not--not a hand stirred; and the Tribunessa looked
for a moment surprised and disconcerted. Her eye roving over the throng,
she perceived several, whom she knew as the wives of Rienzi's foes,
whispering together with meaning glances, and more than one malicious
sneer at her mortification was apparent. She recovered herself
instantly, and said to the Signora Frangipani, with a smile, "May we be
a partaker of your mirth? You seem to have chanced on some gay thought,
which it were a sin not to share freely."

The lady she addressed coloured slightly, and replied, "We were
thinking, madam, that had the Tribune been present, his vow of
knighthood would have been called into requisition."

"And how, Signora?"

"It would have been his pleasing duty, madam, to succour the
distressed." And the Signora glanced significantly on the kerchief still
on the floor.

"You designed me, then, this slight, Signoras," said Nina, rising with
great majesty. "I know not whether your Lords are equally bold to the
Tribune; but this I know, that the Tribune's wife can in future forgive
your absence. Four centuries ago, a Frangipani might well have stooped
to a Raselli; today, the dame of a Roman Baron might acknowledge a
superior in the wife of the first magistrate of Rome. I compel not your
courtesy, nor seek it."

"We have gone too far," whispered one of the ladies to her neighbour.
"Perhaps the enterprise may not succeed; and then--"

Further remark was cut short by the sudden entrance of the Tribune. He
entered with great haste, and on his brow was that dark frown which none
ever saw unquailing.

"How, fair matrons!" said he, looking round the room with a rapid
glance, "ye have not deserted us yet? By the blessed cross, your Lords
pay a compliment to our honour, to leave us such lovely hostages, or
else, God's truth, they are ungrateful husbands. So, madam," turning
sharp round to the wife of Gianni Colonna, "your husband is fled to
Palestrina; yours, Signora Orsini, to Marino; yours with him, fair
bride of Frangipani,--ye came hither to--. But ye are sacred even from a
word!"

The Tribune paused a moment, e