&c.--"Vita di
Cola di Rienzi", lib. ii. cap. 13.) and I am told that never ambassador,
prince, or baron, entered Avignon with so long a train as that which
followed into these very walls the steps of Cola di Rienzi."

"And on his arrival?"

"He demanded an audience, that he might refute the charges against him.
He flung down the gage to the proud cardinals who had excommunicated
him. He besought a trial."

"And what said the Pope?"

"Nothing--by word. Yon tower was his answer!"

"A rough one!"

"But there have been longer roads than that from the prison to the
palace, and God made not men like Rienzi for the dungeon and the chain."

As Angelo said this with a loud voice, and with all the enthusiasm with
which the fame of the fallen Tribune had inspired the youth of Rome, he
heard a sigh behind him. He turned in some confusion, and at the door
which admitted to the chamber occupied by the Signora Cesarini, stood a
female of noble presence. Attired in the richest garments, gold and gems
were dull to the lustre of her dark eyes, and as she now stood, erect
and commanding, never seemed brow more made for the regal crown--never
did human beauty more fully consummate the ideal of a heroine and a
queen.

"Pardon me, Signora," said Angelo, hesitatingly; "I spoke loud, I
disturbed you; but I am Roman, and my theme was--"

"Rienzi!" said the lady, approaching; "a fit one to stir a Roman heart.
Nay--no excuses: they would sound ill on thy generous lips. Ah, if--"
the Signora paused suddenly, and sighed again; then in an altered and
graver tone she resumed--"If fate restore Rienzi to his proper fortunes,
he shall know what thou deemest of him."

"If you, lady, who are of Naples," said Angelo, with meaning emphasis,
"speak thus of a fallen exile, what must I have felt who acknowledge a
sovereign?"

"Rienzi is not of Rome alone--he is of Italy--of the world," returned
the Signora. "And you, Angelo, who have had the boldness to speak thus
of one fallen, have proved with what loyalty you can serve those who
have the fortune to own you."

As she spoke, the Signora looked at the page's downcast and blushing
face long and wistfully, with the gaze of one accustomed to read the
soul in the countenance.

"Men are often deceived," said she sadly, yet with a half smile; "but
women rarely,--save in love. Would that Rome were filled with such as
you! Enough! Hark! Is that the sound of hoofs in the court below?"

"Madam," said