“Why stands yon strange man so mute and motionless?” whispered he to Nina.  “He speaks to none—­he approaches us not—­a churl, a churl!—­he must be seen to.”

“Doubtless, some German or English barbarian,” answered Nina.  “Let not, my Lord, so slight a cloud dim your merriment.”

“You are right, dearest; we have friends here; we are well girt.  And, by my father’s ashes, I feel that I must accustom myself to danger.  Nina, let us move on; methinks we might now mix among the maskers—­masked ourselves.”

The music played loud and cheerily as the Senator and his party mingled with the throng.  But still his eye turned ever towards the grey domino of Adrian, and he perceived that it followed his steps.  Approaching the private entrance of the Capitol, he for a few moments lost sight of his unwelcome pursuer:  but just as he entered, turning abruptly, Rienzi perceived him close at his side—­the next moment the stranger had vanished amidst the throng.  But that moment had sufficed to Adrian—­he had reached Irene.  “Adrian Colonna (he whispered) waits thee beside the Lion.”

In the absorption of his own reflections, Rienzi fortunately did not notice the sudden paleness and agitation of his sister.  Entered within his palace, he called for wine—­the draught revived his spirits—­he listened smilingly to the sparkling remarks of Nina; and enduing his mask and disguise, said, with his wonted cheerfulness, “Now for Truth—­strange that in festivals it should only speak behind a vizard!  My sweet sister, thou hast lost thine old smile, and I would rather see that than—­Ha! has Irene vanished?”

“Only, I suppose, to change her dress, my Cola, and mingle with the revellers,” answered Nina.  “Let my smile atone for hers.”

Rienzi kissed the bright brow of his wife as she clung fondly to his bosom.  “Thy smile is the sunlight,” said he; “but this girl disturbs me.  Methinks now, at least, she might wear a gladder aspect.”

“Is there nothing of love beneath my fair sister’s gloom?” answered Nina.  “Do you not call to mind how she loved Adrian Colonna?”

“Does that fantasy hold still?” returned Rienzi, musingly.  “Well, and she is fit bride for a monarch.”

“Yet it were an alliance that would, better than one with monarchs, strengthen thy power at Rome!”

“Ay, were it possible; but that haughty race!—­Perchance this very masker that so haunted our steps was but her lover.  I will look to this.  Let us forth, my Nina.  Am I well cloaked?”

“Excellently well—­and I?”

“The sun behind a cloud.”

“Ah, let us not tarry long; what hour of revel like that when thy hand in mine, this head upon thy bosom, we forget the sorrows we have known, and even the triumphs we have shared?”

Meanwhile, Irene, confused and lost amidst a transport of emotion, already disguised and masked, was threading her way through the crowd back to the staircase of the Lion.  With the absence of the Senator that spot had comparatively been deserted.  Music and the dance attracted the maskers to another quarter of the wide space.  And Irene now approaching, beheld the moonlight fall over the statue, and a solitary figure leaning against the pedestal.  She paused, the figure approached, and again she heard the voice of her early love.