“Returned from hawking,” answered Angelo, regarding wistfully the cavalcade, as it swept the narrow street.  “Plumes waving, steeds curvetting—­see how yon handsome cavalier presses close to that dame!”

“His mantle is the colour of mine,” sighed Giacomo.

As the gay procession paced slowly on, till hidden by the winding street, and as the sound of laughter and the tramp of horses was yet faintly heard, there frowned right before the straining gaze of the pages, a dark massive tower of the mighty masonry of the eleventh century:  the sun gleamed sadly on its vast and dismal surface, which was only here and there relieved by loopholes and narrow slits, rather than casements.  It was a striking contrast to the gaiety around, the glittering shops, and the gaudy train that had just filled the space below.  This contrast the young men seemed involuntarily to feel; they drew back, and looked at each other.

“I know your thoughts, Giacomo,” said Angelo, the handsomer and elder of the two.  “You think yon tower affords but a gloomy lodgment?”

“And I thank my stars that made me not high enough to require so grand a cage,” rejoined Giacomo.

“Yet,” observed Angelo, “it holds one, who in birth was not our superior.”

“Do tell me something of that strange man,” said Giacomo, regaining his seat; “you are Roman and should know.”

“Yes!” answered Angelo, haughtily drawing himself up, “I am Roman! and I should be unworthy my birth, if I had not already learned what honour is due to the name of Cola di Rienzi.”

“Yet your fellow-Romans merely stoned him, I fancy,” muttered Giacomo.  “Honour seems to lie more in kicks than money.  Can you tell me,” continued the page in a louder key, “can you tell me if it be true, that Rienzi appeared at Prague before the Emperor, and prophesied that the late Pope and all the Cardinals should be murdered, and a new Italian Pope elected, who should endue the Emperor with a golden crown, as Sovereign of Sicilia, Calabria, and Apulia, (An absurd fable, adopted by certain historians.) and himself with a crown of silver, as King of Rome, and all Italy?  And—­”

“Hush!” interrupted Angelo, impatiently.  “Listen to me, and you shall know the exact story.  On last leaving Rome (thou knowest that, after his fall, he was present at the Jubilee in disguise) the Tribune—­” here Angelo, pausing, looked round, and then with a flushed cheek and raised voice resumed, “Yes, the Tribune, that was and shall be—­travelled in disguise, as a pilgrim, over mountain and forest, night and day, exposed to rain and storm, no shelter but the cave,—­he who had been, they say, the very spoilt one of Luxury.  Arrived at length in Bohemia, he disclosed himself to a Florentine in Prague, and through his aid obtained audience of the Emperor Charles.”

“A prudent man, the Emperor!” said Giacomo, “close-fisted as a miser.  He makes conquests by bargain, and goes to market for laurels,—­as I have heard my brother say, who was under him.”