o cut some four or five
hundred throats you'll beat them at last, and the Tribune will sup the
merrier."

"There sounds the second blast," said the butcher. "If my old mother
had not lost two of us already, 'tis odds, but I'd strike a blow for the
bold Tribune."

"You had better put more quicksilver in you," continued Baroncelli, "or
you will be too late. And what a pity that will be!--If you believe the
Tribune, he is the only man that can save Rome. What, you, the finest
people in the world--you, not able to save yourselves!--you, bound up
with one man--you, not able to dictate to the Colonna and Orsini! Why,
who beat the Barons at San Lorenzo? Was it not you? Ah! you got the
buffets, and the Tribune the moneta! Tush, my friends, let the man go;
I warrant there are plenty as good as he to be bought a cheaper bargain.
And, hark! there is the third blast; it is too late now!"

As the trumpet from the distance sent forth its long and melancholy
note, it was as the last warning of the parting genius of the place;
and when silence swallowed up the sound, a gloom fell over the whole
assembly. They began to regret, to repent, when regret and repentance
availed no more. The buffoonery of Baroncelli became suddenly
displeasing; and the orator had the mortification of seeing his audience
disperse in all directions, just as he was about to inform them what
great things he himself could do in their behalf.

Meanwhile the Tribune, passing unscathed through the dangerous quarter
of the enemy, who, dismayed at his approach, shrunk within their
fortress, proceeded to the Castle of St. Angelo, whither Nina had
already preceded him; and which he entered to find that proud lady with
a smile for his safety,--without a tear for his reverse.

Chapter 5.VII. The Successors of an Unsuccessful Revolution--Who is to
Blame--the Forsaken one or the Forsakers?

Cheerfully broke the winter sun over the streets of Rome, as the army
of the Barons swept along them. The Cardinal Legate at the head; the old
Colonna (no longer haughty and erect, but bowed, and broken-hearted
at the loss of his sons) at his right hand;--the sleek smile of Luca
Savelli--the black frown of Rinaldo Orsini, were seen close behind. A
long but barbarous array it was; made up chiefly of foreign hirelings;
nor did the procession resemble the return of exiled citizens, but the
march of invading foes.

"My Lord Colonna," said the Cardinal Legate, a small withered man,