Unable even to conceive the romantic generosity of the Tribune, the Barons were yet more alarmed when, the next day, Rienzi, summoning them one by one to a private audience, presented them with gifts, and bade them forget the past:  excused himself rather than them, and augmented their offices and honours.

In the Quixotism of a heart to which royalty was natural, he thought that there was no medium course; and that the enmity he would not silence by death, he could crush by confidence and favours.  Such conduct from a born king to hereditary inferiors might have been successful; but the generosity of one who has abruptly risen over his lords is but the ostentation of insult.  Rienzi in this, and, perhaps, in forgiveness itself, committed a fatal error of policy, which the dark sagacity of a Visconti, or, in later times, of a Borgia, would never have perpetrated.  But it was the error of a bright and a great mind.

Nina was seated in the grand saloon of the palace—­it was the day of reception for the Roman ladies.

The attendance was so much less numerous than usual that it startled her, and she thought there was a coldness and restraint in the manner of the visitors present, which somewhat stung her vanity.

“I trust we have not offended the Signora Colonna,” she said to the Lady of Gianni, Stephen’s son.  “She was wont to grace our halls, and we miss much her stately presence.”

“Madam, my Lord’s mother is unwell!”

“Is she so?  We will send for her more welcome news.  Methinks we are deserted today.”

As she spoke, she carelessly dropped her handkerchief—­the haughty dame of the Colonna bent not—­not a hand stirred; and the Tribunessa looked for a moment surprised and disconcerted.  Her eye roving over the throng, she perceived several, whom she knew as the wives of Rienzi’s foes, whispering together with meaning glances, and more than one malicious sneer at her mortification was apparent.  She recovered herself instantly, and said to the Signora Frangipani, with a smile, “May we be a partaker of your mirth?  You seem to have chanced on some gay thought, which it were a sin not to share freely.”

The lady she addressed coloured slightly, and replied, “We were thinking, madam, that had the Tribune been present, his vow of knighthood would have been called into requisition.”

“And how, Signora?”

“It would have been his pleasing duty, madam, to succour the distressed.”  And the Signora glanced significantly on the kerchief still on the floor.

“You designed me, then, this slight, Signoras,” said Nina, rising with great majesty.  “I know not whether your Lords are equally bold to the Tribune; but this I know, that the Tribune’s wife can in future forgive your absence.  Four centuries ago, a Frangipani might well have stooped to a Raselli; today, the dame of a Roman Baron might acknowledge a superior in the wife of the first magistrate of Rome.  I compel not your courtesy, nor seek it.”