So far my author; but after quitting Rome, whither did Charles direct his march? First to Viterbo, thence to Sienna, and from Sienna to Pisa. Was he bending his steps to Florence? Was the long-looked-for hour coming quick to Lorenzo Visconti? Poor youth! he could not tell. His heart beat when he thought of it. He formed eager and passionate plans--he dreamed dreams of joy. He would press Leonora to an immediate union; he would carry her with him to France; he would take her to the sweet banks of the Loire, and in that old chateau he so much loved he would see melt away at least some few of those bright days of youth which God made for happiness. Oh! the cup and the lip--the cup and the lip! How short the span that will contain many and momentous events! The army arrived at Pisa, and every one asked his neighbour what was the direction of the next day's march. No one could tell. The morning broke, and no orders were given. The citizens of Pisa rejoiced, provided for the French soldiers as if they had been brothers, rivalled each other in showing kindness and courtesy, and lost no means in testifying that gratitude which they might well feel, or of conciliating that friendship which had already proved so valuable. The King of France busied himself with their affairs, endeavoured to moderate between them and the Florentines, and enjoyed all the pleasures of that city in the fairest period of the year; but though every day increased his peril, he spoke not of the forward march, and never hinted an intention of visiting Florence ere his departure from Italy. At length Lorenzo could endure suspense no longer, and craved permission to absent himself for a few days. "They must be few indeed," said the king gravely. "If you can ride thither in one day and back in another, you can spend one day with your sweet lady, my good cousin. On the fourth we march forward for Pontremoli." The time was very short, but still a day--an hour with Leonora was a boon not to be neglected. It was night when Lorenzo received the permission, and ere an hour was over he was on the way to Florence with a small train. The air was clear and calm, the moon was shining brightly, near the full, and the ghost-like, dreamy beauty of the white marble buildings harmonized with the lights that fell upon them. Oh fair Pisa! city of beauty, of sorrow, and of crime! Standing in thy streets and remembering thy past history, one knows not whether to admire, to grieve, or to abhor! The word was given, the gates were opened, and the train passed out, not numerous enough for any military expedition, yet comprising too many men, and those too well armed, for any party of mere pleasure, except in days of war and peril. Then the country between Pisa and Florence was regarded as peaceful, as those days were; but peace was a mere name in the time I speak of, and it was well known that armed parties had ravaged the adjacent districts ever since the arrival of the King of France at Pisa.