ment to Rienzi had
been unconsciously increased by the gratification of pride and vanity,
flattered by the favour of so celebrated a man. Both self-interest and
attachment urged him to every effort to promote the views and safety of
one at once his benefactor and patron; and on undertaking his present
mission, his only thought was to fulfil it with the most complete
success. Far more brave and daring than was common with the Italians,
something of the hardihood of an Ultra-Montane race gave nerve and
vigour to his craft; and from what his art suggested, his courage never
shrunk.

When Rienzi had first detailed to him the objects of his present task,
he instantly called to mind his adventure with the tall soldier in the
crowd at Avignon. "If ever thou wantest a friend, seek him in Walter
de Montreal," were words that had often rung in his ear, and they now
recurred to him with prophetic distinctness. He had no doubt that it
was Montreal himself whom he had seen. Why the Great Captain should
have taken this interest in him, Angelo little cared to conjecture. Most
probably it was but a crafty pretence--one of the common means by which
the Chief of the Grand Company attracted to himself the youths of Italy,
as well as the warriors of the North. He only thought now how he could
turn the Knight's promise to account. What more easy than to present
himself to Montreal--remind him of the words--enter his service--and
thus effectually watch his conduct? The office of spy was not that which
would have pleased every mind, but it shocked not the fastidiousness of
Angelo Villani; and the fearful hatred with which his patron had often
spoken of the avaricious and barbarian robber--the scourge of his native
land,--had infected the young man, who had much of the arrogant and mock
patriotism of the Romans, with a similar sentiment. More vindictive
even than grateful, he bore, too, a secret grudge against Montreal's
brothers, whose rough address had often wounded his pride; and, above
all, his early recollections of the fear and execration in which Ursula
seemed ever to hold the terrible Fra Moreale, impressed him with a vague
belief of some ancient wrong to himself or his race, perpetrated by the
Provencal, which he was not ill-pleased to have the occasion to avenge.
In truth, the words of Ursula, mystic and dark as they were in
their denunciation, had left upon Villani's boyish impressions an
unaccountable feeling of antipathy and hatre