“He pleases the mob, then!”

“Ay, that doth he; and when he speaks aloud to them, all the roar of Rome is hushed.”

“Humph!—­when nobles are hated, and soldiers are bought, a mob may, in any hour, become the master.  An honest people and a weak mob,—­a corrupt people and a strong mob,” said the other, rather to himself than to his comrade, and scarce, perhaps, conscious of the eternal truth of his aphorism.  “He is no mere brawler, this Rienzi, I suspect—­I must see to it.  Hark! what noise is that?  By the Holy Sepulchre, it is the ring of our own metal!”

“And that cry—­’a Colonna!’” exclaimed Rodolf.  “Pardon me, master,—­I must away to the rescue!”

“Ay, it is the duty of thy hire; run;—­yet stay, I will accompany thee, gratis for once, and from pure passion for mischief.  By this hand, there is no music like clashing steel!”

Still Adrian continued gallantly and unwounded to defend himself, though his arm now grew tired, his breath well-nigh spent, and his eyes began to wink and reel beneath the glare of the tossing torches.  Orsini himself, exhausted by his fury, had paused for an instant, fronting his foe with a heaving breast and savage looks, when, suddenly, his followers exclaimed, “Fly! fly!—­the bandits approach—­we are surrounded!”—­and two of the servitors, without further parley, took fairly to their heels.  The other five remained irresolute, and waiting but the command of their master, when he of the white plume, whom I have just described, thrust himself into the melee.

“What! gentles,” said he, “have ye finished already?  Nay, let us not mar the sport; begin again, I beseech you.  What are the odds?  Ho! six to one!—­nay, no wonder that ye have waited for fairer play.  See, we two will take the weaker side.  Now then, let us begin again.”

“Insolent!” cried the Orsini.  “Knowest thou him whom thou addressest thus arrogantly?—­I am Martino di Porto.  Who art thou?”

“Walter de Montreal, gentleman of Provence, and Knight of St. John!” answered the other, carelessly.

At that redoubted name—­the name of one of the boldest warriors, and of the most accomplished freebooter of his time—­even Martino’s cheek grew pale, and his followers uttered a cry of terror.

“And this, my comrade,” continued the Knight, “for we may as well complete the introduction, is probably better known to you than I am, gentles of Rome; and you doubtless recognize in him Rodolf of Saxony, a brave man and a true, where he is properly paid for his services.”

“Signor,” said Adrian to his enemy, who, aghast and dumb, remained staring vacantly at the two new-comers, “you are now in my power.  See, our own people, too, are approaching.”

And, indeed, from the palace of Stephen Colonna, torches began to blaze, and armed men were seen rapidly advancing to the spot.

“Go home in peace, and if, tomorrow, or any day more suitable to thee, thou wilt meet me alone, and lance to lance, as is the wont of the knights of the empire; or with band to band, and man for man, as is rather the Roman custom; I will not fail thee—­there is my gage.”