“Fortune showers new favours on me!” he said, gaily.  “Yesterday the Florentines spared me the trouble of a siege:  and today (even since I last saw you—­a few minutes since) puts your new Senator of Rome into my power.”

“How!  Have your bands then arrested Rienzi?”

“Not so—­better still!  The Tribune changed his plan, and repaired to Perugia, where my brothers now abide—­sought them—­they have supplied him with money and soldiers enough to brave the perils of the way, and to defy the swords of the Barons.  So writes my good brother Arimbaldo, a man of letters, whom the Tribune thinks rightly he has decoyed with old tales of Roman greatness, and mighty promises of grateful advancement.  You find me hastily expressing my content at the arrangement.  My brothers themselves will accompany the Senator-Tribune to the walls of the Capitol.”

“Still, I see not how this places Rienzi in your power.”

“No!  His soldiers are my creatures—­his comrades my brothers—­his creditor myself!  Let him rule Rome then—­the time soon comes when the Vice-Regent must yield to—­”

“The Chief of the Grand Company,” interrupted Adrian, with a shudder, which the bold Montreal was too engrossed with the unconcealed excitement of his own thoughts to notice.  “No, Knight of Provence, basely have we succumbed to domestic tyrants:  but never, I trust, will Romans be so vile as to wear the yoke of a foreign usurper.”

Montreal looked hard at Adrian, and smiled sternly.

“You mistake me,” said he; “and it will be time enough for you to play the Brutus when I assume the Caesar.  Meanwhile we are but host and guest.  Let us change the theme.”

Nevertheless this, their latter conference, threw a chill over both during the short time the Knights remained together, and they parted with a formality which was ill-suited to their friendly intercourse of the night before.  Montreal felt he had in cautiously revealed himself, but caution was no part of his character, whenever he found himself at the head of an army, and at the full tide of fortune; and at that moment, so confident was he of the success of his wildest schemes, that he recked little whom he offended, or whom alarmed.

Slowly, with his strange and ferocious escort, Adrian renewed his way.  Winding up a steep ascent that led from the plain,—­when he reached the summit, the curve in the road shewed him the whole army on its march;—­the gonfalons waving—­the armour flashing in the sun, line after line, like a river of steel, and the whole plain bristling with the array of that moving war;—­while the solemn tread of the armed thousands fell subdued and stifled at times by martial and exulting music.  As they swept on, Adrian descried at length the stately and towering form of Montreal upon a black charger, distinguished even at that distance from the rest, not more by his gorgeous armour than his lofty stature.  So swept he on in the pride of his array—­in the flush of his hopes—­the head of a mighty armament—­the terror of Italy—­the hero that was—­the monarch that might be!