With this benevolent speech, Rodolf entered the closet; but ere Rienzi could close the door, he stepped forth again—­

“Hold,” said he:  “this blood flows fast.  Help me to bandage it, or I shall bleed to death ere my confession.”

“Per fede,” said the Tribune, his strange humour enjoying the man’s cool audacity; “but, considering the service thou wouldst have rendered me, thou art the most pleasant, forbearing, unabashed, good fellow, I have seen this many a year.  Give us thine own belt.  I little thought my first eve of knighthood would have been so charitably spent!”

“Methinks these robes would make a better bandage,” said Rodolf, pointing to the priests’ gear suspended from the wall.

“Silence, knave,” said the Tribune, frowning; “no sacrilege!  Yet, as thou takest such dainty care of thyself, thou shalt have mine own scarf to accommodate thee.”

With that the Tribune, placing his dagger on the ground, while he cautiously guarded it with his foot, bound up the wounded limb, for which condescension Rodolf gave him short thanks; resumed his weapon and lamp; closed the door; drew over it the long, heavy bolt without, and returned to his couch, deeply and indignantly musing over the treason he had so fortunately escaped.

At the first grey streak of dawn he went out of the great door of the church, called the sentry, who was one of his own guard, and bade him privately, and now ere the world was astir, convey the prisoner to one of the private dungeons of the Capitol.  “Be silent,” said he:  “utter not a word of this to any one; be obedient, and thou shalt be promoted.  This done, find out the councillor, Pandulfo di Guido, and bid him seek me here ere the crowd assemble.”

He then, making the sentinel doff his heavy shoes of iron, led him across the church, resigned Rodolf to his care, saw them depart, and in a few minutes afterwards his voice was heard by the inmates of the neighbouring chapel; and he was soon surrounded by his train.

He was already standing on the floor, wrapped in a large gown lined with furs; and his piercing eye scanned carefully the face of each man that approached.  Two of the Barons of the Frangipani family exhibited some tokens of confusion and embarrassment, from which they speedily recovered at the frank salutation of the Tribune.

But all the art of Savelli could not prevent his features from betraying to the most indifferent eye the terror of his soul;—­and, when he felt the penetrating gaze of Rienzi upon him, he trembled in every joint.  Rienzi alone did not, however, seem to notice his disorder; and when Vico di Scotto, an old knight, from whose hands he received his sword, asked him how he had passed the night, he replied, cheerfully—­

“Well, well—­my brave friend!  Over a maiden knight some good angel always watches.  Signor Luca di Savelli, I fear you have slept but ill:  you seem pale.  No matter!—­our banquet today will soon brighten the current of your gay blood.”