Despite his perilous situation—­despite his suspicions, and his fears, no wanton cruelty stained his stern justice—­Montreal and Pandulfo di Guido were the only state victims he demanded.  If, according to the dark Machiavelism of Italian wisdom, the death of those enemies was impolitic, it was not in the act, but the mode of doing it.  A prince of Bologna, or of Milan would have avoided the sympathy excited by the scaffold, and the drug or the dagger would have been the safer substitute for the axe.  But with all his faults, real and imputed, no single act of that foul and murtherous policy, which made the science of the more fortunate princes of Italy, ever advanced the ambition or promoted the security of the Last of the Roman Tribunes.  Whatever his errors, he lived and died as became a man, who dreamed the vain but glorious dream, that in a corrupt and dastard populace he could revive the genius of the old Republic.

Of all who attended on the Senator, the most assiduous and the most honoured was still Angelo Villani.  Promoted to a high civil station, Rienzi felt it as a return of youth, to find one person entitled to his gratitude;—­he loved and confided in the youth as a son.  Villani was never absent from his side, except in intercourse with the various popular leaders in the various quarters of the city; and in this intercourse his zeal was indefatigable—­it seemed even to prey upon his health; and Rienzi chid him fondly, whenever starting from his own reveries, he beheld the abstracted eye and the livid paleness which had succeeded the sparkle and bloom of youth.

Such chiding the young man answered only by the same unvarying words.

“Senator, I have a great trust to fulfil;”—­and at these words he smiled.

One day Villani, while with the Senator, said rather abruptly, “Do you remember, my Lord, that before Viterbo, I acquitted myself so in arms, that even the Cardinal d’Albornoz was pleased to notice me?”

“I remember your valour well, Angelo; but why the question?”

“My Lord, Bellini, the Captain of the Guard of the Capitol is dangerously ill.”

“I know it.”

“Whom can my Lord trust at the post?”

“Why, the Lieutenant.”

“What!—­a soldier that has served under the Orsini!”

“True.  Well!  There is Tommaso Filangieri.”

“An excellent man; but is he not kin by blood to Pandulfo di Guido?”

“Ay—­is he so?  It must be thought of.  Hast thou any friend to name?” said the Senator, smiling, “Methinks thy cavils point that way.”

“My Lord,” replied Villani, colouring; “I am too young perhaps; but the post is one that demands fidelity more than it does years.  Shall I own it?—­My tastes are rather to serve thee with my sword than with my pen.”

“Wilt thou, indeed, accept the office?  It is of less dignity and emolument than the one you hold; and you are full young to lead these stubborn spirits.”