And with an easy and careless grace the Knight of St. John took his leave.  The old Baron, making a dumb sign of excuse to Adrian, followed Montreal into the adjoining room.

“Sir Knight!” said he, “Sir Knight!” as he closed the door upon Adrian, and then drew Montreal to the recess of the casement,—­“a word in your ear.  Think not I slight your offer, but these young men must be managed; the plot is great—­noble,—­grateful to my heart; but it requires time and caution.  I have many of my house, scrupulous as yon hot-skull, to win over; the way is pleasant, but must be sounded well and carefully; you understand?”

From under his bent brows, Montreal darted one keen glance at Stephen, and then answered: 

“My friendship for you dictated my offer.  The League may stand without the Colonna,—­beware a time when the Colonna cannot stand without the League.  My Lord, look well around you; there are more freemen—­ay, bold and stirring ones, too—­in Rome, than you imagine.  Beware Rienzi!  Adieu, we meet soon again.”

Thus saying, Montreal departed, soliloquising as he passed with his careless step through the crowded ante-room: 

“I shall fail here!—­these caitiff nobles have neither the courage to be great, nor the wisdom to be honest.  Let them fall!—­I may find an adventurer from the people, an adventurer like myself, worth them all.”

No sooner had Stephen returned to Adrian than he flung his arms affectionately round his ward, who was preparing his pride for some sharp rebuke for his petulance.

“Nobly feigned,—­admirable, admirable!” cried the Baron; “you have learned the true art of a statesman at the Emperor’s court.  I always thought you would—­always said it.  You saw the dilemma I was in, thus taken by surprise by that barbarian’s mad scheme; afraid to refuse,—­more afraid to accept.  You extricated me with consummate address:  that passion,—­so natural to your age,—­was a famous feint; drew off the attack; gave me time to breathe; allowed me to play with the savage.  But we must not offend him, you know:  all my retainers would desert me, or sell me to the Orsini, or cut my throat, if he but held up his finger.  Oh! it was admirably managed, Adrian—­admirably!”

“Thank Heaven!” said Adrian, with some difficulty recovering the breath which his astonishment had taken away, “you do not think of embracing that black proposition?”

“Think of it! no, indeed!” said Stephen, throwing himself back on his chair.  “Why, do you not know my age, boy?  Hard on my ninetieth year, I should be a fool indeed to throw myself into such a whirl of turbulence and agitation.  I want to keep what I have, not risk it by grasping more.  Am I not the beloved of the pope? shall I hazard his excommunication?  Am I not the most powerful of the nobles? should I be more if I were king?  At my age, to talk to me of such stuff!—­the man’s an idiot.  Besides,” added the old man, sinking his voice, and looking fearfully round, “if I were a king, my sons might poison me for the succession.  They are good lads, Adrian, very!  But such a temptation!—­I would not throw it in their way; these grey hairs have experience!  Tyrants don’t die a natural death; no, no!  Plague on the Knight, say I; he has already cast me into a cold sweat.”