n of Spain had faded by
thought, and the wear of ambitious schemes, into a sallow but hardy hue;
his brow was deeply furrowed, and though not yet passed the prime of
life, Albornoz might seem to have entered age, but for the firmness
of his step, the slender elasticity of his frame, and an eye which had
acquired calmness and depth from thought, without losing any of the
brilliancy of youth.

"Beautiful Signora," said the Cardinal, bending over the hand of the
Cesarini with a grace which betokened more of the prince than of the
priest; "the commands of his Holiness have detained me, I fear, beyond
the hour in which you vouchsafed to appoint my homage, but my heart has
been with you since we parted."

"The Cardinal d'Albornoz," replied the Signora, gently withdrawing her
hand, and seating herself, "has so many demands on his time, from the
duties of his rank and renown, that methinks to divert his attention for
a few moments to less noble thoughts is a kind of treason to his fame."

"Ah, Lady," replied the Cardinal, "never was my ambition so nobly
directed as it is now. And it were a prouder lot to be at thy feet than
on the throne of St. Peter."

A momentary blush passed over the cheek of the Signora, yet it seemed
the blush of indignation as much as of vanity; it was succeeded by an
extreme paleness. She paused before she replied; and then fixing her
large and haughty eyes on the enamoured Spaniard, she said, in a low
voice,

"My Lord Cardinal, I do not affect to misunderstand your words; neither
do I place them to the account of a general gallantry. I am vain enough
to believe you imagine you speak truly when you say you love me."

"Imagine!" echoed the Spaniard.

"Listen to me," continued the Signora. "She whom the Cardinal Albornoz
honours with his love has a right to demand of him its proofs. In the
papal court, whose power like his?--I require you to exercise it for
me."

"Speak, dearest Lady; have your estates been seized by the barbarians of
these lawless times? Hath any dared to injure you? Lands and titles, are
these thy wish?--my power is thy slave."

"Cardinal, no! there is one thing dearer to an Italian and a woman than
wealth or station--it is revenge!"

The Cardinal drew back from the flashing eye that was bent upon him, but
the spirit of her speech touched a congenial chord.

"There," said he, after a little hesitation, "there spake high descent.
Revenge is the luxury of the well-born. Let s