of the People and the Pontiff.  Various reasons, which I need not now detail, would have made me wish to undertake this heraldry of peace without previous communication with you.  But since we have met, intrust me with any terms of conciliation, and I pledge you the right hand, not of a Roman noble—­alas! the prisca fides has departed from that pledge!—­but of a Knight of the Imperial Court, that I will not betray your confidence.”

Rienzi, accustomed to read the human countenance, had kept his eyes intently fixed upon Adrian while he spoke; when the Colonna concluded, he pressed the proffered hand, and said, with that familiar and winning sweetness which at times was so peculiar to his manner,

“I trust you, Adrian, from my soul.  You were mine early friend in calmer, perchance happier, years.  And never did river reflect the stars more clearly, than your heart then mirrored back the truth.  I trust you!”

While thus speaking, he had mechanically led back the Colonna to the statue of the Lion; there pausing, he resumed: 

“Know that I have this morning despatched my delegate to your cousin Stefanello.  With all due courtesy, I have apprised him of my return to Rome, and invited hither his honoured presence.  Forgetting all ancient feuds, mine own past exile, I have assured him, here, the station and dignity due to the head of the Colonna.  All that I ask in return is obedience to the law.  Years and reverses have abated my younger pride, and though I may yet preserve the sternness of the Judge, none shall hereafter complain of the insolence of the Tribune.”

“I would,” answered Adrian, “that your mission to Stefanello had been delayed a day; I would fain have forestalled its purport.  Howbeit, you increase my desire of departure, should I yet succeed in obtaining an honourable and peaceful reconciliation, it is not in disguise that I will woo your sister.”

“And never did Colonna,” replied Rienzi, loftily, “bring to his House a maiden whose alliance more gratified ambition.  I still see, as I have seen ever, in mine own projects, and mine own destinies, the chart of the new Roman Empire!”

“Be not too sanguine yet, brave Rienzi,” replied Adrian, laying his hand on the Lion of Basalt:  “bethink thee on how many scheming brains this dumb image of stone hath looked down from its pedestal—­schemes of sand, and schemers of dust.  Thou hast enough, at present, for the employ of all thine energy—­not to extend thy power, but to preserve thyself.  For, trust me, never stood human greatness on so wild and dark a precipice!”

“Thou art honest,” said the Senator; “and these are the first words of doubt, and yet of sympathy, I have heard in Rome.  But the People love me, the Barons have fled from Rome, the Pontiff approves, and the swords of the Northmen guard the avenues of the Capitol.  But these are nought; in mine own honesty are my spear and buckler.  Oh, never,” continued Rienzi, kindling with his enthusiasm, “never