ment
behind and aside, and rather prepared for flight than slaughter. Echoing
the cry of "Colonna," poor Benedetta fled at the first clash of swords.
She ran down the dreary street still shrieking that cry, and passed the
very portals of Stephen's palace (where some grim forms yet loitered)
without arresting her steps there, so great were her confusion and
terror.

Meanwhile, the two armed men, whom Adrian had descried, proceeded
leisurely up the street. The one was of a rude and common mould, his
arms and his complexion testified his calling and race; and by the great
respect he paid to his companion, it was evident that that companion was
no native of Italy. For the brigands of the north, while they served the
vices of the southern, scarce affected to disguise their contempt for
his cowardice.

The companion of the brigand was a man of a martial, yet easy air. He
wore no helmet, but a cap of crimson velvet, set off with a white plume;
on his mantle, or surcoat, which was of scarlet, was wrought a broad
white cross, both at back and breast; and so brilliant was the polish
of his corselet, that, as from time to time the mantle waved aside and
exposed it to the moonbeams, it glittered like light itself.

"Nay, Rodolf," said he, "if thou hast so good a lot of it here with that
hoary schemer, Heaven forbid that I should wish to draw thee back again
to our merry band. But tell me--this Rienzi--thinkest thou he has any
solid and formidable power?"

"Pshaw! noble chieftain, not a whit of it. He pleases the mob; but as
for the nobles, they laugh at him; and, as for the soldiers, he has no
money!"

"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 stee