Ursula was moved from her pride by the kindness of Nina:  she approached with involuntary reverence, and kissed the Signora’s hand—­

“May our Lady reward your noble heart!” said she:  “and now my mission is ended, and my earthly goal is won.  Add only, lady, to your inestimable favours one more.  These jewels”—­and Ursula drew from her robe a casket, touched the spring, and the lid flying back, discovered jewels of great size and the most brilliant water,—­“these jewels,” she continued, laying the casket at Nina’s feet, “once belonging to the princely house of Thoulouse, are valueless to me and mine.  Suffer me to think that they are transferred to one whose queenly brow will give them a lustre it cannot borrow.”

“How!” said Nina, colouring very deeply; “think you, madam, my kindness can be bought?  What woman’s kindness ever was?  Nay, nay—­take back the gifts, or I shall pray you to take back your boy.”

Ursula was astonished and confounded:  to her experience such abstinence was a novelty, and she scarcely knew how to meet it.  Nina perceived her embarrassment with a haughty and triumphant smile, and then, regaining her former courtesy of demeanour, said, with a grave sweetness—­

“The Tribune’s hands are clean,—­the Tribune’s wife must not be suspected.  Rather, madam, should I press upon you some token of exchange for the fair charge you have committed to me.  Your jewels hereafter may profit the boy in his career:  reserve them for one who needs them.”

“No, lady,” said Ursula, rising and lifting her eyes to heaven;—­“they shall buy masses for his mother’s soul; for him I shall reserve a competence when his years require it.  Lady, accept the thanks of a wretched and desolate heart.  Fare you well!”

She turned to quit the room, but with so faltering and weak a step, that Nina, touched and affected, sprung up, and with her own hand guided the old woman across the room, whispering comfort and soothing to her; while, as they reached the door, the boy rushed forward, and, clasping Ursula’s robe, sobbed out—­“Dear dame, not one farewell for your little Angelo!  Forgive him all he has cost you!  Now, for the first time, I feel how wayward and thankless I have been.”

The old woman caught him in her arms, and kissed him passionately; when the boy, as if a thought suddenly struck him, drew forth the purse she had given him and said, in a choked and scarce articulate voice,—­“And let this, dearest dame, go in masses for my poor father’s soul; for he is dead, too, you know!”

These words seemed to freeze at once all the tenderer emotions of Ursula.  She put back the boy with the same chilling and stern severity of aspect and manner which had so often before repressed him:  and recovering her self-possession, at once quitted the apartment without saying another word.  Nina, surprised, but still pitying her sorrow and respecting her age, followed her steps across the pages’ ante-room and the reception-chamber, even to the foot of the stairs,—­a condescension the haughtiest princess of Rome could not have won from her; and returning, saddened and thoughtful, she took the boy’s hand, and affectionately kissed his forehead.