Montreal paused a moment, and then resumed:  “These thoughts make the boldest of us weak sometimes, and we Provencals are foolish in these matters!—­God wot, she was very dear to me!”

The Knight bent down and crossed himself devoutly, his lips muttered a prayer.  Strange as it may seem to our more enlightened age, so martial a garb did morality then wear, that this man, at whose word towns had blazed and torrents of blood had flowed, neither adjudged himself, nor was adjudged by the majority of his contemporaries, a criminal.  His order, half monastic, half warlike, was emblematic of himself.  He trampled upon man, yet humbled himself to God; nor had all his acquaintance with the refining scepticism of Italy shaken the sturdy and simple faith of the bold Provencal.  So far from recognising any want of harmony between his calling and his creed, he held that man no true chevalier who was not as devout to the Cross as relentless with the sword.

“And you have no child save the one you lost?” asked Adrian, when he observed the wonted composure of Montreal once more returning.

“None!” said Montreal, as his brow again darkened.  “No love-begotten heir of mine will succeed to the fortunes I trust yet to build.  Never on earth shall I see upon the face of her child the likeness of Adeline!  Yet, at Avignon, I saw a boy I would have claimed; for methought she must have looked her soul into his eyes, they were so like hers!  Well, well!  The Provence tree hath other branches; and some unborn nephew must be—­what?  The stars have not yet decided!  But ambition is now the only thing in the world left me to love.”

“So differently operates the same misfortune upon different characters,” thought the Colonna.  “To me, crowns became valueless when I could no longer dream of placing them on Irene’s brow!”

The similarity of their fates, however, attracted Adrian strongly towards his host; and the two Knights conversed together with more friendship and unreserve than they had hitherto done.  At length Montreal said, “By the way, I have not inquired your destination.”

“I am bound to Rome,” said Adrian; “and the intelligence I have learned from you incites me thitherward yet more eagerly.  If Rienzi return, I may mediate successfully, perchance, between the Tribune-Senator and the nobles; and if I find my cousin, young Stefanello, now the head of our house, more tractable than his sires, I shall not despair of conciliating the less powerful Barons.  Rome wants repose; and whoever governs, if he govern but with justice, ought to be supported both by prince and plebeian!”

Montreal listened with great attention, and then muttered to himself, “No, it cannot be!” He mused a little while, shading his brow with his hand, before he said aloud, “To Rome you are bound.  Well, we shall meet soon amidst its ruins.  Know, by the way, that my object here is already won:  these Florentine merchants have acceded to my terms; they have purchased a two years’ peace; tomorrow the camp breaks up, and the Grand Company march to Lombardy.  There, if my schemes prosper, and the Venetians pay my price, I league the rascals (under Landau, my Lieutenant) with the Sea-City, in defiance of the Visconti, and shall pass my autumn in peace amidst the pomps of Rome.”