In an ancient vault of the palace of the Adimari, the leaders of a conspiracy were assembled. Noble forms and manly visages thronged the damp and obscure apartment, and among the noblest in presence stood Leonardo, the chief of the Adimari. But the countenances of the nobles who composed the meeting, were dark and troubled. The flashing eye and the quivering lip betrayed the deep passions which agitated the breasts of the chiefs, as, in the course of their dialogue, some new cruelty, some fresh instance of tyranny and rapacity upon the part of the Duke d’Atene, was recited. A tap was heard at the grated door, and Leonardo Adimari having personally opened it, Ugolino and his two companions entered the apartment. The count had thrown off his reeking mantle, and stood attired in a rich scarlet doublet, fancifully guarded with gold embroidery, white long hose, and ruffled boots, which exposed his manly person to the best advantage. His locks, of a dark chestnut hue, flowed in long ringlets from beneath a scarlet barret cap, adorned with a jewelled clasp and plume of white heron feathers. His countenance, chiselled in the finest and most classical shape, was rendered highly expressive by his dark eyes, which rolled and sparkled with Italian vivacity of character. His form, sufficiently fleshy for a perfect contour, displayed great muscular strength, united with the most finished symmetry. Depending from a richly ornamented scarf, hung his rapier in its ornamented sheath, and his dagger, of elegant workmanship, was suspended from the embroidered hangers of his girdle. “Welcome, noble Ugolino,” said Adimari, as he led the count forward, “and thou too, worthy Pino D’Rossi, we lack patriots such as thou.” “Thanks, noble Adimari,” replied D’Rossi, who was a short, sturdy man, attired in a plain, black suit. His age might have been some forty-five years, for his hair was already tinged with gray. A golden chain, depending from his neck, denoted him to be of some mark among the citizens, and his countenance and deportment were those of a stalwart burgher. “Thanks, worthy Adimari. Patriots are never wanting to defend true liberty, when she is attacked, and was it ever heard that Frenchmen were the guardians of the goddess?” “Brave Leonardo,” said an old nobleman, rising slowly from his seat, “these times call for a speedy action. The blood of a noble family—the blood of my son, Giovanni de Medici—long-spilt, and even now staining the ermine of Walter of Brienne, calls from the earth for vengeance. This moment is propitious. The Florentine people, grieved and oppressed by the hard measures of the Duke, and of Giulio D’Assisi—the Florentine nobles, down-trodden and despised by the arrogant followers of this count of Brienne—all are ready—all are willing at once to throw off the yoke of thraldom, and to reassert the ancient liberties and privileges of the city of Florence.”