“Yet, perhaps his only course, under all circumstances,” resumed the elder page.  “Once before his fall, and once during his absence from Rome, he had been excommunicated by the Pope’s legate.  He was accused of heresy—­the ban was still on him.  It was necessary that he should clear himself.  How was the poor exile to do so?  No powerful friend stood up for the friend of the people.  No courtier vindicated one who had trampled on the neck of the nobles.  His own genius was his only friend; on that only could he rely.  He sought Avignon, to free himself from the accusations against him; and, doubtless, he hoped that there was but one step from his acquittal to his restoration.  Besides, it is certain that the Emperor had been applied to, formally to surrender Rienzi.  He had the choice before him; for to that sooner or later it must come—­to go free, or to go in bonds—­as a criminal, or as a Roman.  He chose the latter.  Wherever he passed along, the people rose in every town, in every hamlet.  The name of the great Tribune was honoured throughout all Italy.  They besought him not to rush into the very den of peril—­they implored him to save himself for that country which he had sought to raise.  ‘I go to vindicate myself, and to triumph,’ was the Tribune’s answer.  Solemn honours were paid him in the cities through which he passed; ("Per tutto la via li furo fatti solenni onori,” &c.—­“Vita di Cola di Rienzi”, lib. ii. cap. 13.) and I am told that never ambassador, prince, or baron, entered Avignon with so long a train as that which followed into these very walls the steps of Cola di Rienzi.”

“And on his arrival?”

“He demanded an audience, that he might refute the charges against him.  He flung down the gage to the proud cardinals who had excommunicated him.  He besought a trial.”

“And what said the Pope?”

“Nothing—­by word.  Yon tower was his answer!”

“A rough one!”

“But there have been longer roads than that from the prison to the palace, and God made not men like Rienzi for the dungeon and the chain.”

As Angelo said this with a loud voice, and with all the enthusiasm with which the fame of the fallen Tribune had inspired the youth of Rome, he heard a sigh behind him.  He turned in some confusion, and at the door which admitted to the chamber occupied by the Signora Cesarini, stood a female of noble presence.  Attired in the richest garments, gold and gems were dull to the lustre of her dark eyes, and as she now stood, erect and commanding, never seemed brow more made for the regal crown—­never did human beauty more fully consummate the ideal of a heroine and a queen.

“Pardon me, Signora,” said Angelo, hesitatingly; “I spoke loud, I disturbed you; but I am Roman, and my theme was—­”

“Rienzi!” said the lady, approaching; “a fit one to stir a Roman heart.  Nay—­no excuses:  they would sound ill on thy generous lips.  Ah, if—­” the Signora paused suddenly, and sighed again; then in an altered and graver tone she resumed—­“If fate restore Rienzi to his proper fortunes, he shall know what thou deemest of him.”