"Who are you? What is your name?" asked Lorenzo; but the man made no reply, and retreated under the archway whence he had come.
Winding through the crowds which occupied the Piazza, the young knight and his party overtook the cardinal just as he was dismounting at the gates of the great heavy building, known as the Podesta; and springing to his stirrup, Lorenzo in a whisper communicated to him rapidly the fears he entertained of some sudden and terrible conflict between the citizens and the French soldiery, should the demands of the king be excessive or tyrannical.
"It is right his Majesty should know the state of the city," he said; "and if I can obtain speech of him, he shall know it; for no one can judge of the signs around us better than myself, whose boyhood has been passed in these streets and squares."
"You shall have speech of him," said the cardinal, "follow me quickly. They must be at it already. Where is the king, boy?--where is the council?"
A page whom he addressed led him up the great staircase, and hurrying his pace, he was soon in that great council chamber where the fate of Florence had been so often decided.
The scene it now presented was very striking. The King of France was seated in a chair of state, with many of his officers and counsellors around, and the Bishop of St. Malo standing at his left hand. Before him stood a number of the magistrates of Florence, richly robed, and on the faces of all present might be seen a sharp and angry expression, as if some bitter words had been already passing. The room was crowded; but as the cardinal and Lorenzo entered, they could see the Bishop of St. Malo take a step across the open space between the king and the magistrates, and hand a written paper to one of the latter, on whose face the very first words brought a heavy frown.
Holding Lorenzo by the hand, Julian de Rovera pushed his way through the crowd, murmuring, "God send we be not too late," and at length reached the monarch's side, where he bent his head to the king's ear, saying abruptly, "This young man has matter of life and death to communicate to you, sire. Listen to him for a moment ere you do aught else."
The king raised his eyes to Lorenzo's face, and then inclined his ear, making the young man a sign to speak.
"My lord," said Lorenzo in a whisper, "no one about you knows Florence as well as I do. You and your army are on the brink of a volcano. The houses all around are filled with armed men. Not only are the citizens prepared to rise at a moment's notice, but the town has been crowded with the neighbouring peasantry, and although your Majesty is in full possession of the town, a conflict in these streets might be more disastrous than can be told."
"Hark," said the king, "the old man is speaking;" and, raising his head, he gazed upon the magistrate who had been reading the paper.