A slight and scarce perceptible cloud passed over Montreal’s countenance at these words; and he bit his lip ere he replied: 

“Yet if the Orsini be less scrupulous, their first exertion of power would be heard in the crashing house of the Colonna.”

“Know you,” returned Adrian, “that one of our mottoes is this haughty address to the Romans,—­’If we fall, ye fall also?’ And better that fate, than a rise upon the wrecks of our native city.”

“Well, well, well!” said Montreal, reseating himself, “I see that I must leave Rome to herself,—­the League must thrive without her aid.  I did but jest, touching the Orsini, for they have not the power that would make their efforts safe.  Let us sweep, then, our past conference from our recollection.  It is the nineteenth, I think, Lord Colonna, on which you propose to repair to Corneto, with your friends and retainers, and on which you have invited my attendance?”

“It is on that day, Sir Knight,” replied the Baron, evidently much relieved by the turn the conversation had assumed.  “The fact is, that we have been so charged with indifference to the interests of the good people, that I strain a point in this expedition to contradict the assertion; and we propose, therefore, to escort and protect, against the robbers of the road, a convoy of corn to Corneto.  In truth, I may add another reason, besides fear of the robbers, that makes me desire as numerous a train as possible.  I wish to show my enemies, and the people generally, the solid and growing power of my house; the display of such an armed band as I hope to levy, will be a magnificent occasion to strike awe into the riotous and refractory.  Adrian, you will collect your servitors, I trust, on that day; we would not be without you.”

“And as we ride along, fair Signor,” said Montreal, inclining to Adrian, “we will find at least one subject on which we can agree:  all brave men and true knights have one common topic,—­and its name is Woman.  You must make me acquainted with the names of the fairest dames of Rome; and we will discuss old adventures in the Parliament of Love, and hope for new.  By the way, I suppose, Lord Adrian, you, with the rest of your countrymen, are Petrarch-stricken?”

“Do you not share our enthusiasm? slur not so your gallantry, I pray you.”

“Come, we must not again disagree; but, by my halidame, I think one troubadour roundel worth all that Petrarch ever wrote.  He has but borrowed from our knightly poesy, to disguise it, like a carpet coxcomb.”

“Well,” said Adrian, gaily, “for every line of the troubadours that you quote, I will cite you another.  I will forgive you for injustice to Petrarch, if you are just to the troubadours.”

“Just!” cried Montreal, with real enthusiasm:  “I am of the land, nay the very blood of the troubadour!  But we grow too light for your noble kinsman; and it is time for me to bid you, for the present, farewell.  My Lord Colonna, peace be with you; farewell, Sir Adrian,—­brother mine in knighthood,—­remember your challenge.”