of Italy.  To you, noble Stephen, I have come, as your rank demands,—­alone, of all the barons of Rome,—­to propose to you this honourable union.  Observe what advantages it proffers to your house.  The popes have abandoned Rome for ever; there is no counterpoise to your ambition,—­there need be none to your power.  You see before you the examples of Visconti and Taddeo di Pepoli.  You may found in Rome, the first city of Italy, a supreme and uncontrolled principality, subjugate utterly your weaker rivals,—­the Savelli, the Malatesta, the Orsini,—­and leave to your sons’ sons an hereditary kingdom that may aspire once more, perhaps, to the empire of the world.”

Stephen shaded his face with his hand as he answered:  “But this, noble Montreal, requires means:—­money and men.”

“Of the last, you can command from me enow—­my small company, the best disciplined, can (whenever I please) swell to the most numerous in Italy:  in the first, noble Baron, the rich House of Colonna cannot fail; and even a mortgage on its vast estates may be well repaid when you have possessed yourselves of the whole revenues of Rome.  You see,” continued Montreal, turning to Adrian, in whose youth he expected a more warm ally than in the his hoary kinsman:  “you see, at a glance, how feasible is this project, and what a mighty field it opens to your House.”

“Sir Walter de Montreal,” said Adrian, rising from his seat, and giving vent to the indignation he had with difficulty suppressed, “I grieve much that, beneath the roof of the first citizen of Rome, a stranger should attempt thus calmly, and without interruption, to excite the ambition of emulating the execrated celebrity of a Visconti or a Pepoli.  Speak, my Lord! (turning to Stephen)—­speak, noble kinsman! and tell this Knight of Provence, that if by a Colonna the ancient grandeur of Rome cannot be restored, it shall not be, at least, by a Colonna that her last wrecks of liberty shall be swept away.”

“How now, Adrian!—­how now, sweet kinsman!” said Stephen, thus suddenly appealed to, “calm thyself, I pr’ythee.  Noble Sir Walter, he is young—­young, and hasty—­he means not to offend thee.”

“Of that I am persuaded,” returned Montreal, coldly, but with great and courteous command of temper.  “He speaks from the impulse of the moment,—­a praiseworthy fault in youth.  It was mine at his age, and many a time have I nearly lost my life for the rashness.  Nay, Signor, nay!—­touch not your sword so meaningly, as if you fancied I intimated a threat; far from me such presumption.  I have learned sufficient caution, believe me, in the wars, not wantonly to draw against me a blade which I have seen wielded against such odds.”

Touched, despite himself, by the courtesy of the Knight, and the allusion to a scene in which, perhaps, his life had been preserved by Montreal, Adrian extended his hand to the latter.

“I was to blame for my haste,” said he, frankly; “but know, by my very heat,” he added more gravely, “that your project will find no friends among the Colonna.  Nay, in the presence of my noble kinsman, I dare to tell you, that could even his high sanction lend itself to such a scheme, the best hearts of his house would desert him; and I myself, his kinsman, would man yonder castle against so unnatural an ambition!”