“Your greater prudence, Signor,” said the sarcastic Savelli, “arises from your greater safety.  Your house is about to shelter itself under the Tribune’s; and when the Lord Adrian returns from Naples, the innkeeper’s son will be brother to your kinsman.”

“You might spare me that taunt,” said the old noble, with some emotion.  “Heaven knows how bitterly I have chafed at the thought; yet I would Adrian were with us.  His word goes far to moderate the Tribune, and to guide my own course, for my passion beguiles my reason; and since his departure methinks we have been the more sullen without being the more strong.  Let this pass.  If my own son had wed the Tribune’s sister, I would yet strike a blow for the old constitution as becomes a noble, if I but saw that the blow would not cut off my own head.”

Savelli, who had been whispering apart with Rinaldo Frangipani, now said—­

“Noble Prince, listen to me.  You are bound by your kinsman’s approaching connection, your venerable age, and your intimacy with the Pontiff, to a greater caution than we are.  Leave to us the management of the enterprise, and be assured of our discretion.”

A young boy, Stefanello, who afterwards succeeded to the representation of the direct line of the Colonna, and whom the reader will once again encounter ere our tale be closed, was playing by his grandsire’s knees.  He looked sharply up at Savelli, and said, “My grandfather is too wise, and you are too timid.  Frangipani is too yielding, and Orsini is too like a vexed bull.  I wish I were a year or two older.”

“And what would you do, my pretty censurer?” said the smooth Savelli, biting his smiling lip.

“Stab the Tribune with my own stiletto, and then hey for Palestrina!”

“The egg will hatch a brave serpent,” quoth the Savelli.  “Yet why so bitter against the Tribune, my cockatrice?”

“Because he allowed an insolent mercer to arrest my uncle Agapet for debt.  The debt had been owed these ten years; and though it is said that no house in Rome has owed more money than the Colonna, this is the first time I ever heard of a rascally creditor being allowed to claim his debt unless with doffed cap and bended knee.  And I say that I would not live to be a Baron, if such upstart insolence is to be put upon me.”

“My child,” said old Stephen, laughing heartily, “I see our noble order will be safe enough in your hands.”

“And,” continued the child, emboldened by the applause he received, “if I had time after pricking the Tribune, I would fain have a second stroke at—­”

“Whom?” said the Savelli, observing the boy pause.

“My cousin Adrian.  Shame on him, for dreaming to make one a wife whose birth would scarce fit her for a Colonna’s leman!”

“Go play, my child—­go play,” said the old Colonna, as he pushed the boy from him.

“Enough of this babble,” cried the Orsini, rudely.  “Tell me, old lord; just as I entered, I saw an old friend (one of your former mercenaries) quit the palace—­may I crave his errand?”