By this time Lorenzo and the monk had disappeared under the archway and ascended a staircase on the right. It was dirty and dark enough, but the door at the top led into a suite of rooms of almost regal splendour and oriental luxury. The first and the second chambers were vacant; but in the third Ramiro d'Orco was walking up and down with slow steps, and his stern, thoughtful eyes bent upon the ground. It is probable that he had heard the step of Lorenzo from his first entrance; but he was one of those men who never show emotion of any kind, whatever they may feel--men who are never known to start; and it was not till the young man and the friar were quite near that he even looked up. "Welcome to Rome, Lorenzo," he said, without embracing him as most Italians would have done, or giving him his hand as an Englishman would not have failed to do. "Friar, you may leave us, and do not let us be interrupted. Sit, Lorenzo, sit! Will you rest on that pile of cushions or on that stuffed dais--stuffed with the inner down of some strange northern bird?" "I thank you, Signor d'Orco," replied Lorenzo, "but I have been lately taught to sit and lie hard enough. You have, indeed, every sort of luxury here." "Do not call them mine," said Ramiro, with a bitter smile. "They belong to my landlord, the holy and noble Cardinal Borgia. Men propose to themselves different objects in life, young sir. Some judge our short space here was given only for enjoyment; others, again, think it should be a time of active enterprise; one man seeks glory; another power; another wealth. They mostly imagine that they are only, in every object, seeking a means to an end--the covetous will enjoy his wealth hereafter--the ambitious only desires power to benefit his friends or crush his enemies--but they deceive themselves. Only Cæsar Borgia and I admit the naked truth. He says enjoyment in life. I say ambition is enjoyment. But an ambitious man must not sit on soft stools. There is my common seat," and he drew towards him an old wooden chair of the rudest and most uneasy form. "So," he continued abruptly, after they were seated, "you have not brought Leonora with you." "My lord, the matter was decided without me," replied Lorenzo; "the Cardinal of St. Peter's, your near relation, judged that this was not a fit place for her: but I will not conceal from you that I should have brought her with great reluctance, though every hour of her company is dearer to me than the jewels of a monarch's crown." "The cardinal was right, and you were right," said Ramiro d'Orco, and plunging into thought, remained silent for several minutes, then looking calmly up in Lorenzo's face he said, "You are not married yet?" "Assuredly not, my lord," said the young man, with his cheek somewhat burning from a consciousness of thoughts--nay, of wishes, if not purposes--which had come and gone in his own heart. "You gave your consent to our betrothal, but not to our marriage."