“Jest me no jests,” cried the Orsini, fiercely. “Jests on such a subject! By St. Francis I would, since thou lovest such wit, thou hadst it all to thyself; and, methinks, at the Tribune’s board I have seen thee laugh at his rude humour, as if thou didst not require a cord to choke thee.”
“Better to laugh than to tremble,” returned the Savelli.
“How! darest thou say I tremble?” cried the Baron.
“Hush, hush,” said the veteran Colonna, with impatient dignity. “We are not now in such holiday times as to quarrel amongst ourselves. Forbear, my lords.”
“Your greater prudence, Signor,” said the sarcastic Savelli, “arises from your greater safety. Your house is about to shelter itself under the Tribune’s; and when the Lord Adrian returns from Naples, the innkeeper’s son will be brother to your kinsman.”
“You might spare me that taunt,” said the old noble, with some emotion. “Heaven knows how bitterly I have chafed at the thought; yet I would Adrian were with us. His word goes far to moderate the Tribune, and to guide my own course, for my passion beguiles my reason; and since his departure methinks we have been the more sullen without being the more strong. Let this pass. If my own son had wed the Tribune’s sister, I would yet strike a blow for the old constitution as becomes a noble, if I but saw that the blow would not cut off my own head.”
Savelli, who had been whispering apart with Rinaldo Frangipani, now said—
“Noble Prince, listen to me. You are bound by your kinsman’s approaching connection, your venerable age, and your intimacy with the Pontiff, to a greater caution than we are. Leave to us the management of the enterprise, and be assured of our discretion.”
A young boy, Stefanello, who afterwards succeeded to the representation of the direct line of the Colonna, and whom the reader will once again encounter ere our tale be closed, was playing by his grandsire’s knees. He looked sharply up at Savelli, and said, “My grandfather is too wise, and you are too timid. Frangipani is too yielding, and Orsini is too like a vexed bull. I wish I were a year or two older.”
“And what would you do, my pretty censurer?” said the smooth Savelli, biting his smiling lip.