“Beware,” he whispered, “the least sign of fraud, and thou art the first victim!”

The assassin nodded again, and proceeded.  They entered the room; and then the Tribune’s strange guide pointed to an open casement.  “Behold my entrance,” said he; “and, if you permit me, my egress—­”

“The frog gets not out of the well so easily as he came in, friend,” returned Rienzi, smiling.  “And now, if I am not to call my guards, what am I to do with thee!”

“Let me go, and I will seek thee tomorrow; and if thou payest me handsomely, and promisest not to harm limb or life, I will put thine enemies and my employers in thy power.”

Rienzi could not refrain from a slight laugh at the proposition, but composing himself, replied—­“And what if I call my attendants, and give thee to their charge?”

“Thou givest me to those very enemies and employers; and in despair lest I betray them, ere the day dawn they cut my throat—­or thine.”

“Methinks knave, I have seen thee before.”

“Thou hast.  I blush not for name or country.  I am Rodolf of Saxony!”

“I remember me:—­servitor of Walter de Montreal.  He, then, is thy instigator!”

“Roman, no!  That noble Knight scorns other weapon than the open sword, and his own hand slays his own foes.  Your pitiful, miserable, dastard Italians, alone employ the courage, and hire the arm, of others.”

Rienzi remained silent.  He had released hold of his prisoner, and stood facing him; every now and then regarding his countenance, and again relapsing into thought.  At length, casting his eyes round the small chamber thus singularly tenanted, he observed a kind of closet, in which the priests’ robes, and some articles used in the sacred service, were contained.  It suggested at once an escape from his dilemma:  he pointed to it—­

“There, Rodolf of Saxony, shalt thou pass some part of this night—­a small penance for thy meditated crime; and tomorrow, as thou lookest for life, thou wilt reveal all.”

“Hark, ye, Tribune,” returned the Saxon, doggedly; “my liberty is in your power, but neither my tongue nor my life.  If I consent to be caged in that hole, you must swear on the crossed hilt of the dagger that you now hold, that, on confession of all I know, you pardon and set me free.  My employers are enough to glut your rage an’ you were a tiger.  If you do not swear this—­”

“Ah, my modest friend!—­the alternative?”

“I brain myself against the stone wall!  Better such a death than the rack!”

“Fool, I want not revenge against such as thou.  Be honest, and I swear that, twelve hours after thy confession, thou shalt stand safe and unscathed without the walls of Rome.  So help me our Lord and his saints.”

“I am content!—­Donner und Hagel, I have lived long enough to care only for my own life, and the great captain’s next to it;—­for the rest, I reck not if ye southerns cut each other’s throats, and make all Italy one grave.”