ated."

"What I desire," continued Rienzi, fixing his searching eyes upon
Montreal, "is, that, in the meanwhile, we should preserve a profound
calm,--we should remove every suspicion. I shall bury myself in my
studies, and convoke no more meetings."

"Well--"

"And for yourself, noble Knight, might I venture to dictate, I would
pray you to mix with the nobles--to profess for me and for the people
the profoundest contempt--and to contribute to rock them yet more in the
cradle of their false security. Meanwhile, you could quietly withdraw as
many of the armed mercenaries as you influence from Rome, and leave the
nobles without their only defenders. Collecting these hardy warriors in
the recesses of the mountains, a day's march from hence, we may be able
to summon them at need, and they shall appear at our gates, and in the
midst of our rising--hailed as deliverers by the nobles, but in reality
allies with the people. In the confusion and despair of our enemies at
discovering their mistake, they will fly from the city."

"And its revenues and its empire will become the appanage of the hardy
soldier and the intriguing demagogue!" cried Montreal, with a laugh.

"Sir Knight, the division shall be equal."

"Agreed!"

"And now, noble Montreal, a flask of our best vintage!" said Rienzi,
changing his tone.

"You know the Provencals," answered Montreal, gaily.

The wine was brought, the conversation became free and familiar, and
Montreal, whose craft was acquired, and whose frankness was natural,
unwittingly committed his secret projects and ambition more nakedly to
Rienzi than he had designed to do. They parted apparently the best of
friends.

"By the way," said Rienzi, as they drained the last goblet. "Stephen
Colonna betakes him to Corneto, with a convoy of corn, on the 19th.
Will it not be as well if you join him? You can take that opportunity to
whisper discontent to the mercenaries that accompany him on his mission,
and induce them to our plan."

"I thought of that before," returned Montreal; "it shall be done. For
the present, farewell!"

"'His barb, and his sword,
And his lady, the peerless,
Are all that are prized
By Orlando the fearless.

"'Success to the Norman,
The darling of story;
His glory is pleasure--
His pleasure is glory.'"

Chanting this rude ditty as he resumed his mantle, the Knight waved his
hand to Rienzi, and departed.

Rienzi watched the rece