“Muse! prophetess! you speak aright,” said the high-spirited Cardinal, with unwonted energy; “and your voice is like that of the Fame I dreamed of in my youth.  Speak on, speak ever!”

“Such,” continued the Signora, “such as your pride, is the just pride of Rienzi.  Proud that he is the workman of his own great renown.  In such as the Tribune of Rome we acknowledge the founders of noble lineage.  Ancestry makes not them—­they make ancestry.  Enough of this.  I am of noble race, it is true; but my house, and those of many, have been crushed and broken beneath the yoke of the Orsini and Colonna—­it is against them I desire revenge.  But I am better than an Italian lady—­I am a Roman woman—­I weep tears of blood for the disorders of my unhappy country.  I mourn that even you, my Lord,—­yes, that a barbarian, however eminent and however great, should mourn for Rome.  I desire to restore her fortunes.”

“But Rienzi would only restore his own.”

“Not so, my Lord Cardinal; not so.  Ambitious and proud he may be—­great souls are so—­but he has never had one wish divorced from the welfare of Rome.  But put aside all thought of his interests—­it is not of these I speak.  You desire to re-establish the papal power in Rome.  Your senators have failed to do it.  Demagogues fail—­Rienzi alone can succeed; he alone can command the turbulent passions of the Barons—­he alone can sway the capricious and fickle mob.  Release, restore Rienzi, and through Rienzi the Pope regains Rome!”

The Cardinal did not answer for some moments.  Buried as in a revery, he sate motionless, shading his face with his hand.  Perhaps he secretly owned there was a wiser policy in the suggestions of the Signora than he cared openly to confess.  Lifting his head, at length, from his bosom, he fixed his eyes upon the Signora’s watchful countenance, and, with a forced smile, said,

“Pardon me, madam; but while we play the politicians, forget not that I am thy adorer.  Sagacious may be thy counsels, yet wherefore are they urged?  Why this anxious interest for Rienzi?  If by releasing him the Church may gain an ally, am I sure that Giles d’Albornoz will not raise a rival?”

“My Lord,” said the Signora, half rising, “you are my suitor; but your rank does not tempt me—­your gold cannot buy.  If you love me, I have a right to command your services to whatsoever task I would require—­it is the law of chivalry.  If ever I yield to the addresses of mortal lover, it will be to the man who restores to my native land her hero and her saviour.”

“Fair patriot,” said the Cardinal, “your words encourage my hope, yet they half damp my ambition; for fain would I desire that love and not service should alone give me the treasure that I ask.  But hear me, sweet lady; you over-rate my power:  I cannot deliver Rienzi—­he is accused of rebellion, he is excommunicated for heresy.  His acquittal rests with himself.”

“You can procure his trial?”