“What?”

“The blood of the Barons by San Lorenzo—­blood only shed in our own defence against perjured assailants; this is in reality the main crime.  The Colonna have the Pope’s ear.  Furthermore, the sacrilege—­yes, the sacrilege (come laugh, Nina, laugh!) of bathing in a vase of porphyry used by Constantine while yet a heathen.”

“Can it be!  What saidst thou?”

“I laughed.  ‘Cardinal,’ quoth I, ’what was not too good for a heathen is not too good for a Christian Catholic!’ And verily the sour Frenchman looked as if I had smote him on the hip.  When he had done, I asked him, in my turn, ’Is it alleged against me that I have wronged one man in my judgment-court?’—­Silence.  ’Is it said that I have broken one law of the state?’—­Silence.  ’Is it even whispered that trade does not flourish—­that life is not safe—­that abroad or at home the Roman name is not honoured, to that point which no former rule can parallel?’—­Silence.  ‘Then,’ said I, ’Lord Cardinal, I demand thy thanks, not thy censure.’  The Frenchman looked, and looked, and trembled, and shrunk, and then out he spake.  ’I have but one mission to fulfil, on the part of the Pontiff—­resign at once thy Tribuneship, or the Church inflicts upon thee its solemn curse.’”

“How—­how?” said Nina, turning very pale; “what is it that awaits thee?”

“Excommunication!”

This awful sentence, by which the spiritual arm had so often stricken down the fiercest foe, came to Nina’s ear as a knell.  She covered her face with her hands.  Rienzi paced the room with rapid strides.  “The curse!” he muttered; “the Church’s curse—­for me—­for me!”

“Oh, Cola! didst thou not seek to pacify this stern—­”

“Pacify!  Death and dishonour!  Pacify!  ‘Cardinal,’ I said, and I felt his soul shrivel at my gaze, ’my power I received from the people—­to the people alone I render it.  For my soul, man’s word cannot scathe it.  Thou, haughty priest, thou thyself art the accursed, if, puppet and tool of low cabals and exiled tyrants, thou breathest but a breath in the name of the Lord of Justice, for the cause of the oppressor, and against the rights of the oppressed.’  With that I left him, and now—­”

“Ay, now—­now what will happen?  Excommunication!  In the metropolis of the Church, too—­the superstition of the people!  Oh, Cola!”

“If,” muttered Rienzi, “my conscience condemned me of one crime—­if I had stained my hands in one just man’s blood—­if I had broken one law I myself had framed—­if I had taken bribes, or wronged the poor, or scorned the orphan, or shut my heart to the widow—­then, then—­but no!  Lord, thou wilt not desert me!”