r's wife, stood Irene. Amidst the crowd on her alone Adrian
fixed his eyes. The years which had flown over the fair brow of the
girl of sixteen--then animated by, yet trembling beneath, the first wild
breath of Love;--youth in every vein--passion and childish tenderness
in every thought, had not marred, but they had changed, the character
of Irene's beauty. Her cheek, no longer varying with every instant, was
settled into a delicate and thoughtful paleness--her form, more rounded
to the proportions of Roman beauty, had assumed an air of dignified and
calm repose. No longer did the restless eye wander in search of some
imagined object; no longer did the lip quiver into smiles at some untold
hope or half-unconscious recollection. A grave and mournful expression
gave to her face (still how sweet!) a gravity beyond her years. The
bloom, the flush, the April of the heart, was gone; but yet neither
time, nor sorrow, nor blighted love, had stolen from her countenance its
rare and angelic softness--nor that inexpressible and virgin modesty of
form and aspect, which, contrasting the bolder beauties of Italy, had
more than aught else distinguished to Adrian, from all other women, the
idol of his heart. And feeding his gaze upon those dark deep eyes, which
spoke of thought far away and busy with the past, Adrian felt again and
again that he was not forgotten! Hovering near her, but suffering the
crowd to press one after another before him, he did not perceive that he
had attracted the eagle eye of the Senator.

In fact, as one of the maskers passed Rienzi, he whispered, "Beware,
a Colonna is among the masks! beneath the reveller's domino has often
lurked the assassin's dagger. Yonder stands your foe--mark him!"

These words were the first sharp and thrilling intimation of the perils
into which he had rushed, that the Tribune-Senator had received since
his return. He changed colour slightly; and for some minutes the courtly
smile and ready greeting with which he had hitherto delighted every
guest, gave way to a moody abstraction.

"Why stands yon strange man so mute and motionless?" whispered he to
Nina. "He speaks to none--he approaches us not--a churl, a churl!--he
must be seen to."

"Doubtless, some German or English barbarian," answered Nina. "Let not,
my Lord, so slight a cloud dim your merriment."

"You are right, dearest; we have friends here; we are well girt. And, by
my father's ashes, I feel that I must accustom mysel