"I fear, my lord cardinal, she has retired to rest," said Lorenzo, "but if so I will deliver the letter and your Eminence's words to-morrow." A slight smile came upon the old man's face; but notwithstanding his sternness and occasional violence, softer and kinder emotions would sometimes spring up from his heart. He crossed himself as if sorry for the mere worldly smile; and then looking up on high, where the stars were sparkling clear and bright, he murmured, "Well, after all, this pure young love is a noble and beautiful thing. Good night, my son, God's benison and mine be upon you." They had now reached the entrance of his tent and there they parted. CHAPTER XIX. From the rejoicing gates of Pisa--set free by the King of France from the burdensome yoke of Florence--the royal army took its way to the daughter of Fiesole. Steadily, though slowly it marched on, and Lorenzo Visconti led the van. Oh what thoughts, what struggles of feeling, what various emotions perplexed him when he saw the walls and towers of Florence rising before him! There his early infancy had passed after his father had perished in the successful effort to rid his country of a tyrant, but only, alas, to give her another. There had his youth been protected, his life saved, his education received, his fortunes cared for, his happiest days passed. And now he approached the cradle of his youth at the head of an invading army. With his lance upon his thigh and his beaver raised he gazed upon the beautiful city with apprehension but not without hope. He knew that Florence had no power to resist; that her walls were too feeble, her towers not strong enough to make any successful defence against the tremendous train of artillery which followed the French army. He trembled to think of what might be the consequence of one bombard fired from those battlements, one gate closed upon the foe. The scenes of Vivizano returned to his imagination, and he thought he saw the forms of well known friends and early companions exposed to the licence and brutality of the cruel soldiery. "I at least come not as an enemy," he thought, "and perchance if it be God's good will, I may do something in return for all that Florence has done for me." He looked anxiously round as he continued his march, but he could see no signs of resistance. Now his eyes rested upon the calm Arno flowing on, alternately seen and lost; and then he caught a glimpse of the Mugnione, and a torrent but now a brook, rushing down from the Apennines. Many a winding road caught his eye, but nothing appeared upon them but trains of peasantry seemingly seeking shelter from the apprehended pillage by the light troops of the French army.