Amidst the growing excitement, Angelo Villani arrived at Rome.  The character of this young man had been formed by his peculiar circumstances.  He possessed qualities which often mark the Illegitimate as with a common stamp.  He was insolent—­like most of those who hold a doubtful rank; and while ashamed of his bastardy, was arrogant of the supposed nobility of his unknown parentage.  The universal ferment and agitation of Italy at that day rendered ambition the most common of all the passions, and thus ambition, in all its many shades and varieties, forces itself into our delineations of character in this history.  Though not for Angelo Villani were the dreams of the more lofty and generous order of that sublime infirmity, he was strongly incited by the desire and resolve to rise.  He had warm affections and grateful impulses; and his fidelity to his patron had been carried to a virtue:  but from his irregulated and desultory education, and the reckless profligacy of those with whom, in ante-chambers and guard-rooms, much of his youth had been passed, he had neither high principles nor an enlightened honour.  Like most Italians, cunning and shrewd, he scrupled not at any deceit that served a purpose or a friend.  His strong attachment to Rienzi had been unconsciously increased by the gratification of pride and vanity, flattered by the favour of so celebrated a man.  Both self-interest and attachment urged him to every effort to promote the views and safety of one at once his benefactor and patron; and on undertaking his present mission, his only thought was to fulfil it with the most complete success.  Far more brave and daring than was common with the Italians, something of the hardihood of an Ultra-Montane race gave nerve and vigour to his craft; and from what his art suggested, his courage never shrunk.

When Rienzi had first detailed to him the objects of his present task, he instantly called to mind his adventure with the tall soldier in the crowd at Avignon.  “If ever thou wantest a friend, seek him in Walter de Montreal,” were words that had often rung in his ear, and they now recurred to him with prophetic distinctness.  He had no doubt that it was Montreal himself whom he had seen.  Why the Great Captain should have taken this interest in him, Angelo little cared to conjecture.  Most probably it was but a crafty pretence—­one of the common means by which the Chief of the Grand Company attracted to himself the youths of Italy, as well as the warriors of the North.  He only thought now how he could turn the Knight’s promise to account.  What more easy than to present himself to Montreal—­remind him of the words—­enter his service—­and thus effectually watch his conduct?  The office of spy was not that which would have pleased every mind, but it shocked not the fastidiousness of Angelo Villani; and the fearful hatred with which his patron had often spoken of the avaricious and barbarian robber—­the scourge of his native land,—­had infected