ierce Orsini; and with
his sword he clove the baton in two.

"In the Vicar's name, I command you to fall back!" said the sturdy
guard, now placing his huge bulk in the very front of the noble's path.

"It is Cecco del Vecchio!" cried those of the populace, who were near
enough to perceive the interruption and its cause.

"Ay," said one, "the good Vicar has put many of the stoutest fellows
in the Pope's livery, in order the better to keep peace. He could have
chosen none better than Cecco."

"But he must not fall!" cried another, as Orsini, glaring on the smith,
drew back his sword as if to plunge it through his bosom.

"Shame--shame! shall the Pope be thus insulted in his own city?" cried
several voices. "Down with the sacrilegious--down!" And, as if by a
preconcerted plan, a whole body of the mob broke at once through
the lane, and swept like a torrent over Orsini and his jostled and
ill-assorted train. Orsini himself was thrown on the ground with
violence, and trampled upon by a hundred footsteps; his men, huddled and
struggling as much against themselves as against the mob, were scattered
and overset; and when, by a great effort of the guards, headed by the
smith himself, order was again restored, and the line reformed, Orsini,
well nigh choked with his rage and humiliation, and greatly bruised by
the rude assaults he had received, could scarcely stir from the ground.
The officers of the Pope raised him, and, when he was on his legs, he
looked wildly around for his sword, which, falling from his hand, had
been kicked amongst the crowd, and seeing it not, he said, between his
ground teeth, to Cecco del Vecchio--

"Fellow, thy neck shall answer this outrage, or may God desert me!" and
passed along through the space; while a half-suppressed and exultant
hoot from the bystanders followed his path.

"Way there!" cried the smith, "for the Lord Martino di Porto, and may
all the people know that he has threatened to take my life for the
discharge of my duty in obedience to the Pope's Vicar!"

"He dare not!" shouted out a thousand voices; "the people can protect
their own!"

This scene had not been lost on the Provencal, who well knew how to
construe the wind by the direction of straws, and saw at once, by the
boldness of the populace, that they themselves were conscious of a
coming tempest. "Par Dieu," said he, as he saluted Adrian, who, gravely,
and without looking behind, had now won the steps of the church, "yon