He learned further, that, short as had been his absence, Pandulfo di Guido had twice addressed the populace, not in favour of the Senator, but in artful regrets of the loss to the trade of Rome in the absence of her wealthiest nobles.

“For this, then, he has deserted me,” said Rienzi to himself.  “Let him beware!”

The tidings contained in the next touched him home:  Walter de Montreal had openly arrived in Rome.  The grasping and lawless bandit, whose rapine filled with a robber’s booty every bank in Europe—­whose Company was the army of a King—­whose ambition, vast, unprincipled, and profound, he so well knew—­whose brothers were in his camp—­their treason already more than suspected;—­Walter de Montreal was in Rome!

The Senator remained perfectly aghast at this new peril; and then said, setting his teeth as in a vice,

“Wild tiger, thou art in the Lion’s den!” Then pausing, he broke out again, “One false step, Walter de Montreal, and all the mailed hands of the Grand Company shall not pluck thee from the abyss!  But what can I do?  Return to Rome—­the plans of Montreal unpenetrated—­no accusation against him!  On what pretence can I with honour raise the siege?  To leave Palestrina, is to give a triumph to the Barons—­to abandon Adrian, to degrade my cause.  Yet, while away from Rome, every hour breeds treason and danger.  Pandulfo, Albornoz, Montreal—­all are at work against me.  A keen and trusty spy, now;—­ha, well thought of—­Villani!—­What, ho—­Angelo Villani!”

The young chamberlain appeared.

“I think,” said Rienzi, “to have often heard, that thou art an orphan?”

“True, my Lord; the old Augustine nun who reared my boyhood, has told me again and again that my parents are dead.  Both noble, my Lord; but I am the child of shame.  And I say it often, and think of it ever, in order to make Angelo Villani remember that he has a name to win.”

“Young man, serve me as you have served, and if I live you shall have no need to call yourself an orphan.  Mark me!  I want a friend—­the Senator of Rome wants a friend—­only one friend—­gentle Heaven! only one!”

Angelo sank on his knee, and kissed the mantle of his Lord.

“Say a follower.  I am too mean to be Rienzi’s friend.”

“Too mean!—­go to!—­there is nothing mean before God, unless it be a base soul under high titles.  With me, boy, there is but one nobility, and Nature signs its charter.  Listen:  thou hearest daily of Walter de Montreal, brother to these Provencals—­great captain of great robbers?”

“Ay, and I have seen him, my Lord.”