“A more worthy choice could not be selected,” said Savelli; “but I should scarce deem it possible that a Colonna could think there was an option between resistance and fealty to this upstart revolution.”

“Of that, Signor, I will judge for myself; if you demand an agent for yourselves, choose another.  I announce to ye frankly, that I have seen enough of other states to think the recent condition of Rome demanded some redress.  Whether Rienzi and Raimond be worthy of the task they have assumed, I know not.”

Savelli was silent.  The old Colonna seized the word.

“To Palestrina, then!—­are ye all agreed on this?  At the worst, or at the best, we should not be divided!  On this condition alone I hazard the safety of my kinsman!”

The Barons murmured a little among themselves;—­the expediency of Stephen’s proposition was evident, and they at length assented to it.

Adrian saw them depart, and then, attended only by his squire, slowly rode towards a more distant entrance into the city.  On arriving at the gates, his name was demanded—­he gave it freely.

“Enter, my Lord,” said the warder, “our orders were to admit all that came unarmed and unattended.  But to the Lord Adrian di Castello, alone, we had a special injunction to give the honours due to a citizen and a friend.”

Adrian, a little touched by this implied recollection of friendship, now rode through a long line of armed citizens, who saluted him respectfully as he passed, and, as he returned the salutation with courtesy, a loud and approving shout followed his horse’s steps.

So, save by one attendant, alone, and in peace, the young patrician proceeded leisurely through the long streets, empty and deserted,—­for nearly one half of the inhabitants were assembled at the walls, and nearly the other half were engaged in a more peaceful duty,—­until, penetrating the interior, the wide and elevated space of the Capitol broke upon his sight.  The sun was slowly setting over an immense multitude that overspread the spot, and high above a scaffold raised in the centre, shone, to the western ray, the great Gonfalon of Rome, studded with silver stars.

Adrian reined in his steed.  “This,” thought he, “is scarcely the hour thus publicly to confer with Rienzi; yet fain would I, mingled with the crowd, judge how far his power is supported, and in what manner it is borne.”  Musing a little, he withdrew into one of the obscurer streets, then wholly deserted, surrendered his horse to his squire, and, borrowing of the latter his morion and long mantle, passed to one of the more private entrances of the Capitol, and, enveloped in his cloak, stood—­one of the crowd—­intent upon all that followed.

“And what,” he asked of a plainly dressed citizen, “is the cause of this assembly?”

“Heard you not the proclamation?” returned the other in some surprise.  “Do you not know that the Council of the City and the Guilds of the Artisans have passed a vote to proffer to Rienzi the title of king of Rome?”