“Gently, gently,” said Montreal; “I do not despair.  All open violence against the Senator would strengthen his power.  No, no, humble him—­admit the Barons, and then insist on your own terms.  Between the two factions you might then establish a fitting balance.  And in order to keep your new constitution from the encroachment of either extreme, there are warriors and knights, too, who for a certain rank in the great city of Rome would maintain horse and foot at its service.  We Ultra-Montanes are often harshly judged; we are wanderers and Ishmaelites, solely because we have no honourable place of rest.  Now, if I—­”

“Ay, if you, noble Montreal!” said Vivaldi.

The company remained hushed in breathless attention, when suddenly there was heard—­deep, solemn, muffled,—­the great bell of the Capitol!

“Hark!” said Vivaldi, the bell:  “It tolls for execution:  an unwonted hour!”

“Sure, the Senator has not returned!” exclaimed Pandulfo di Guido, turning pale.

“No, no,” quoth Bruttini, “it is but a robber, caught two nights ago in Romagna.  I heard that he was to die tonight.”

At the word “robber,” Montreal changed countenance slightly.  The wine circulated—­the bell continued to toll—­its suddenness over, it ceased to alarm.  Conversation flowed again.

“What were you saying, Sir Knight?” said Vivaldi.

“Why, let me think on’t;—­oh, speaking of the necessity of supporting a new state by force, I said that if I—­”

“Ah, that was it!” quoth Bruttini, thumping the table.

“If I were summoned to your aid—­summoned, mind ye, and absolved by the Pope’s Legate of my former sins—­(they weigh heavily on me, gentles)—­I would myself guard your city from foreign foe and civil disturbance, with my gallant swordsmen.  Not a Roman citizen should contribute a ‘danaro’ to the cost.”

“Viva Fra Moreale!” cried Bruttini; and the shout was echoed by all the boon companions.

“Enough for me,” continued Montreal, “to expiate my offences.  Ye know, gentlemen, my order is vowed to God and the Church—­a warrior-monk am I!  Enough for me to expiate my offences, I say, in the defence of the Holy City.  Yet I, too, have my private and more earthly views,—­who is above them?  I—­the bell changes its note!”

“It is but the change that preludes execution—­the poor robber is about to die!”

Montreal crossed himself, and resumed:—­“I am a knight and a noble,” said he, proudly; “the profession I have followed is that of arms; but—­I will not disguise it—­mine equals have regarded me as one who has stained his scutcheon by too reckless a pursuit of glory and of gain.  I wish to reconcile myself with my order—­to purchase a new name—­to vindicate myself to the Grand Master and the Pontiff.  I have had hints, gentles,—­hints, that I might best promote my interest by restoring order to the Papal metropolis.  The Legate Albornoz (here is his letter) recommends me to keep watch upon the Senator.”