“Little eno’, St. Paul knows!” said Cecco.

“Should it not be a claim questioned?”

“I think so!” replied the smith.

“And if found an outrage on our ancient laws, should it not be a claim resisted?”

“Not a doubt of it.”

“Well, go to!  The archives assure me that never was Emperor lawfully crowned but by the free votes of the people.  We never chose Bohemian or Bavarian.”

“But, on the contrary, whenever these Northmen come hither to be crowned, we try to drive them away with stones and curses,—­for we are a people, Tribune, that love our liberties.”

“Go back to your friends—­see—­address them, say that your Tribune will demand of these pretenders to Rome the right to her throne.  Let them not be mazed or startled, but support me when the occasion comes.”

“I am glad of this,” quoth the huge smith; “for our friends have grown a little unruly of late, and say—­”

“What do they say?”

“That it is true you have expelled the banditti, and curb the Barons, and administer justice fairly;—­”

“Is not that miracle enough for the space of some two or three short months?”

“Why, they say it would have been more than enough in a noble; but you, being raised from the people, and having such gifts and so forth, might do yet more.  It is now three weeks since they have had any new thing to talk about; but Orsini’s execution today will cheer them a bit.”

“Well, Cecco, well,” said the Tribune, rising, “they shall have more anon to feed their mouths with.  So you think they love me not quite so well as they did some three weeks back?”

“I say not so,” answered Cecco.  “But we Romans are an impatient people.”

“Alas, yes!”

“However, they will no doubt stick close enough to you; provided, Tribune, you don’t put any new tax upon them.”

“Ha!  But if, in order to be free, it be necessary to fight—­if to fight, it be necessary to have soldiers, why then the soldiers must be paid:—­won’t the people contribute something to their own liberties;—­to just laws, and safe lives?”

“I don’t know,” returned the smith, scratching his head as if a little puzzled; “but I know that poor men won’t be overtaxed.  They say they are better off with you than with the Barons before, and therefore they love you.  But men in business, Tribune, poor men with families, must look to their bellies.  Only one man in ten goes to law—­only one man in twenty is butchered by a Baron’s brigand; but every man eats, and drinks, and feels a tax.”

“This cannot be your reasoning, Cecco!” said Rienzi, gravely.

“Why, Tribune, I am an honest man, but I have a large family to rear.”

“Enough; enough!” said the Tribune quickly; and then he added abstractedly as to himself, but aloud,—­“Methinks we have been too lavish; these shows and spectacles should cease.”

“What!” cried Cecco; “what, Tribune!—­would you deny the poor fellows a holiday.  They work hard enough, and their only pleasure is seeing your fine shows and processions; and then they go home and say,—­’See, our man beats all the Barons! what state he keeps!’”