“And so,” said Agostino, with an expression of deep concern, “that letter, from which the good man hoped so much, and which was so powerful, will only go to increase his danger!”

“The more fool he!—­he might have known that it was of no use.  Who was going to take his part against the Pope?”

“The city of Florence has stood by him until lately,” said Agostino,—­“and would again, with a little help.”

“Oh, no! never think it, my dear Agostino!  Depend upon it, it will end as such things always do, and the man is only a madman that undertakes it.  Hark ye, cousin, what have you to do with this man?  Why do you attach yourself to the side that is sure to lose?  I cannot conceive what you would be at.  This is no way to mend your fortunes.  Come to-night to my father’s palace:  the Duke has appointed us princely lodgings, and treats us with great hospitality, and my father has plans for your advantage.  Between us, there is a fair young ward of his, of large estates and noble blood, whom he designs for you.  So you see, if you turn your attention in this channel, there may come a reinforcement of the family property, which will enable you to hold out until the Pope dies, or some prince or other gets into a quarrel with him, which is always happening, and then a move may be made for you.  My father, I’ll promise you, is shrewd enough, and always keeps his eye open to see where there is a joint in the harness, and have a trusty dagger-blade all whetted to stick under.  Of course, he means to see you righted; he has the family interest at heart, and feels as indignant as you could at the rascality which has been perpetrated; but I am quite sure he will tell you that the way is not to come out openly against the Pope and join this fanatical party.”

Agostino stood silent, with the melancholy air of a man who has much to say, and is deeply moved by considerations which he perceives it would be utterly idle and useless to attempt to explain.  If the easy theology of his friend were indeed true,—­if the treasures of the heavenly kingdom, glory, honor, and immortality, could indeed be placed in unholy hands to be bought and sold and traded in,—­if holiness of heart and life, and all those nobler modes of living and being which were witnessed in the histories of the thousand saints around him, were indeed but a secondary thing in the strife for worldly place and territory,—­what, then, remained for the man of ideas, of aspirations?  In such a state of society, his track must be like that of the dove in sacred history who found no rest for the sole of her foot.

Agostino folded his arms and sighed deeply, and then made answer mechanically, as one whose thoughts are afar off.

“Present my duty,” he said, “to my uncle, your father, and say to him that I will wait on him to-night.”

“Even so,” said the young man, picking up his cloak and folding it about him.  “And now, you know, I must go.  Don’t be discouraged; keep up a good heart; you shall see what it is to have powerful friends to stand by you; all will be right yet.  Come, will you go with me now?”