He had but a few weeks returned to his native city, whither his reputation had already preceded him, and where his early affection for letters and gentleness of bearing were still remembered.  He returned to find the position of Rienzi far more altered than his own.  Adrian had not yet sought the scholar.  He wished first to judge with his own eyes, and at a distance, of the motives and object of his conduct; for partly he caught the suspicions which his own order entertained of Rienzi, and partly he shared in the trustful enthusiasm of the people.

“Certainly,” said he now to himself, as he walked musingly onward, “certainly, no man has it more in his power to reform our diseased state, to heal our divisions, to awaken our citizens to the recollections of ancestral virtue.  But that very power, how dangerous is it!  Have I not seen, in the free states of Italy, men, called into authority for the sake of preserving the people, honest themselves at first, and then, drunk with the sudden rank, betraying the very cause which had exalted them?  True, those men were chiefs and nobles; but are plebeians less human?  Howbeit I have heard and seen enough from afar,—­I will now approach, and examine the man himself.”

While thus soliloquizing, Adrian but little noted the various passengers, who, more and more rarely as the evening waned, hastened homeward.  Among these were two females, who now alone shared with Adrian the long and gloomy street into which he had entered.  The moon was already bright in the heavens, and, as the women passed the cavalier with a light and quick step, the younger one turned back and regarded him by the clear light with an eager, yet timid glance.

“Why dost thou tremble, my pretty one!” said her companion, who might have told some five-and-forty years, and whose garb and voice bespoke her of inferior rank to the younger female.  “The streets seem quiet enough now, and, the Virgin be praised! we are not so far from home either.”

“Oh, Benedetta, it is he! it is the young signor—­it is Adrian!”

“That is fortunate,” said the nurse, for such was her condition, “since they say he is as bold as a Northman:  and as the Palazzo Colonna is not very far from hence, we shall be within reach of his aid should we want it:  that is to say, sweet one, if you will walk a little slower than you have yet done.”

The young lady slackened her pace, and sighed.

“He is certainly very handsome,” quoth the nurse:  “but thou must not think more of him; he is too far above thee for marriage, and for aught else, thou art too honest, and thy brother too proud—­”

“And thou, Benedetta, art too quick with thy tongue.  How canst thou talk thus, when thou knowest he hath never, since, at least, I was a mere child, even addressed me:  nay, he scarce knows of my very existence.  He, the Lord Adrian di Castello, dream of the poor Irene!  The mere thought is madness!”