The day came: the last parting embrace was given--the last, long clinging kiss was taken--the last wave of the hand, as the troop filed down the street, and then Leonora d'Orco was left to the solitude of her own thoughts. The multitude of turbulent emotions which had thrilled through her heart were all still. It was as when a gay crowd that has been laughing, and singing, and revelling, suddenly departs and leaves the scene of rejoicing all silent and solitary. The words of Leonardo da Vinci's song came back to her mind-- "Oft have I wept for joys too soon possessed!" And retiring to her own chamber she gave way to very natural tears. Nor were they soon over, nor was the emotion in which they arose transient. Nothing was evanescent in the character of Leonora d'Orco. Even young as she was, all was deep, strong, and permanent. But I must leave her alone for the present with her tears, or with the sadness that followed them, and proceed with Lorenzo Visconti on the march towards Rome and Naples; not that I intend to dwell upon battles or sieges, intrigues or negotiations; but I merely purpose to give a slight sketch of the historical events that followed, with one or two detached scenes more in detail, where public transactions affected the fate of those of whom I write. With audacity bordering upon folly, Charles VIII. advanced rapidly upon Rome, without having taken any efficient steps to guard his communications with France. Each step rendered his position more perilous, and had there been anything like unity amongst the Italian princes or states it is probable that neither the King of France nor his gallant army would ever have seen Paris again. The pope, too, thundered at him from the Vatican, admitted Neapolitan troops into Rome, and endeavoured to raise the partisans of the Church in the imperial city, to aid him in repelling the advancing enemy. But Alexander found no support. No one loved, no one respected him, and his call upon the citizens was made in vain. On, step by step, the French monarch advanced, but, as he neared the city, which had once been the capital of the world, a degree of uncertainty came over him, and discord manifested itself in his council. The Cardinal of St. Peter's urged him strongly to depose the monster whose brow defiled the tiara; several other bishops and cardinals joined in the demand. Some of the stern old military men, too, argued on the same side, but the smooth Bishop of St. Malo and many of the king's lay-counsellors recommended negotiation; advised that the march of the army should be retarded or stopped, and that skilful diplomatists should be sent forward to treat for peaceful admission into Rome.