Montreal’s lip worked convulsively.

“Senator,” said he, in a low voice, “may I crave audience with thee alone for one minute?”

The councillors looked up.

“My Lord,” whispered the eldest of them, “doubtless he hath concealed weapons—­trust him not.”

“Prisoner,” returned Rienzi, after a moment’s pause; “if thou seekest for mercy thy request is idle, and before my coadjutors I have no secret; speak out what thou hast to say!”

“Yet listen to me,” said the prisoner, folding his arms; “it concerns not my life, but Rome’s welfare.”

“Then,” said Rienzi, in an altered tone, “thy request is granted.  Thou mayst add to thy guilt the design of the assassin, but for Rome I would dare greater danger.”

So saying, he motioned to the councillors, who slowly withdrew by the door which had admitted Villani, while the guards retired to the farthest extremity of the hall.

“Now, Walter de Montreal, be brief, for thy time is short.”

“Senator,” said Montreal, “my life can but little profit you; men will say that you destroyed your creditor in order to cancel your debt.  Fix a sum upon my life, estimate it at the price of a monarch’s; every florin shall be paid to you, and your treasury will be filled for five years to come.  If the ‘Buono Stato’ depends on your government, what I have asked, your solicitude for Rome will not permit you to refuse.”

“You mistake me, bold robber,” said Rienzi, sternly; “your treason I could guard against, and therefore forgive; your ambition, never!  Mark me, I know you!  Place your hand on your heart and say whether, could we change places, you, as Rienzi, would suffer all the gold of earth to purchase the life of Walter de Montreal?  For men’s reading of my conduct, that must I bear; for mine own reading, mine eyes must be purged from corruption.  I am answerable to God for the trust of Rome.  And Rome trembles while the head of the Grand Company lives in the plotting brain and the daring heart of Walter de Montreal.  Man—­wealthy, great, and subtle as you are, your hours are numbered; with the rise of the sun you die!”

Montreal’s eyes, fixed upon the Senator’s face, saw hope was over; his pride and his fortitude returned to him.

“We have wasted words,” said he.  “I played for a great stake, I have lost, and must pay the forfeit!  I am prepared.  On the threshold of the Unknown World, the dark spirit of prophecy rushes into us.  Lord Senator, I go before thee to announce—­that in Heaven or in Hell—­ere many days be over, room must be given to one mightier than I am!”

As he spoke, his form dilated, his eye glared; and Rienzi, cowering as never had he cowered before, shrunk back, and shaded his face with his hand.

“The manner of your death?” he asked, in a hollow voice.

“The axe:  it is that which befits knight and warrior.  For thee, Senator, Fate hath a less noble death.”