“Well hast thou spoken, noble Pompeo,” replied Adimari, “and it was my intention to apportion this night to each, such charge as the exigencies of the present time demand. My worthy friend, Pino D’Rossi assures me that the people are ripe for the attempt, and my heart decides me that the nobles will not fail to aid them.” “The arrogance of these minions of the duke have reached so outrageous a height,” said D’Rossi, “that I will pledge mine honor that the populace will prefer a thousand deaths to a longer submission.” “I,” said Bindo Altoviti, “will speak for the artizans, and will engage to make as many mouthsful of those rascals, the _bargello_ and his son, as they have murdered innocent men.” “For Gualtieri,” said the old Medici, “may the hand of the Everlasting lie heavy on me and mine, if he, or aught of his race, shall escape the general doom!” Ugolino started. “For mine own part,” said he, “I trust that the effusion of blood may not be farther pursued in these unhappy times than the exigency of the case requires. Far be it from me to justify the conduct of the Count of Brienne, or the arrogance of his proud followers. Yet the count may have been badly advised, and I think these cruelties may not be entirely ascribed to the wickedness of his nature. Let not the noble Medici so far mistake, as to suffer a private desire of revenge, however just such a desire may appear, to overrule the cause of liberty. This, I trust, may be attained without a sanguinary massacre. Let the sword of mercy interpose, nor by a blind and indiscriminate fury, sacrifice the innocent upon the same altar with the guilty.” “Aye, Count Ugolino,” said Medici, and a bitter sneer passed over his thin features, “we well know the cause of your solicitations. Have we forgotten the tale of Julian D’Este, and of the princess Rosabelle? The fair sister of Walter of Brienne may, to a moonsick lover, be an object of deeper interest than the prosecution of the holiest revenge, or the re-assertion of our Florentine liberty.” “Now, by heaven, Pompeo Medici,” exclaimed Ugolino, “you do me infinite wrong! What? dare you hint that Julian D’Este died by my hand? or that Rosabelle de Brienne sways me with a stronger attachment than the interests of Florence?” “I speak well-known facts,” replied the Medici. “Neither is the history of Count Ugolino unknown to the world, nor are his _actions_ left unscrutinized.” “Thou irreverend noble!” said Ugolino, while a deep flush overspread his cheek. “Hadst thou not the sanction of thine age to protect thee, I would force thee to eat thine own words, with no better sauce to them than my stiletto.” “Nay,” interposed Adimari, while Pino D’Rossi intercepted Ugolino, “these matters will break out again into our ancient broils. Worthy Medici—valiant Ugolino—listen to reason—nay, Pompeo, sheathe thy sword—this is utter ruin to our general cause!” Ugolino returned his dagger to its sheath.