The smith dropped at the feet of Rienzi, who held out his hand to raise him, which Cecco del Vecchio seized, and reverentially kissed.
“This kiss does not betray,” said Rienzi, smiling; “but rise, my friend,—this posture is only due to God and his saints!”
“He is a saint who helps us at need!” said the smith, bluntly, “and that no man has done as thou hast. But when,” he added, sinking his voice, and fixing his eyes hard on Rienzi, as one may do who waits a signal to strike a blow, “when—when shall we make the great effort?”
“Thou hast spoken to all the brave men in thy neighbourhood,—are they well prepared?”
“To live or die, as Rienzi bids them!”
“I must have the list—the number—names—houses and callings, this night.”
“Thou shalt.”
“Each man must sign his name or mark with his own hand.”
“It shall be done.”
“Then, harkye! attend Pandulfo di Guido at his house this evening, at sunset. He shall instruct thee where to meet this night some brave hearts;—thou art worthy to be ranked amongst them. Thou wilt not fail!”