The south of Italy had in the mean time passed through several phases, and the monarchical element had long predominated in its government. The only question was to whom it should belong. Foreign families struggled for the often contested throne; and Italians then only drew their swords or raised their voices in favour of one or another usurper. The destinies of the north and the south were sealed; and in Tuscany no wide field was offered for ambition. A man might raise himself to a certain degree by subservience to some powerful prince, but he must continue to serve that prince, or he fell, and would never aspire to independent domination where hereditary power was recognised by the people, and lay at the foundation of all acknowledged authority. It was alone in central Italy, and especially in Romagna and in the States of the Church--where a principle antagonistic to all hereditary claims existed in the very nature of the Papal power--that any adventurer could hope, either by his individual genius or courage, or by services rendered to those who already held authority, to raise himself to independent rule, or to that station which was only attached to a superior by the thin and nearly worn-out thread of feudal tenure. "Those who would find fortune," said Ramiro d'Orco, "such fortune as Francesco Sforza conquered and the Medici attained must seek it at Rome. There is the field, the only field still open to the bold spirit, the strong, unwavering heart, the keen and clear-seeing mind--there is the table on which the boldest player is sure to win the most. With every change of the papacy, new combinations, and, consequently, new opportunities must arise, and, thanks to the wise policy of the College of Cardinals, those changes must be frequent. A man there may, as elsewhere, be required to serve in order at length to command; but if he do not obtain power at length, it is his fault or Fortune's, and in either case he must abide the consequences. Good night, Signor Rovera." CHAPTER VI. "What is it, dear girl?--Let me think?" said Leonora to her young cousin. They sat in a small ante-room between their sleeping chambers, which gave entrance from the corridor to each. "And what would you think of, Leonora?" asked Bianca, laughing wickedly. Leonora gazed from the window, whence was seen the garden below bathed in moonlight, with faint glimpses of the distant country, and the sparkle of the rays upon the fountain whose voice came murmuring up. She did not answer, but continued silent, with her cheek resting on her hand, and her arm upon the sill of the window. "I know right well whom you are thinking of," said Bianca, bending down her head so as to gaze upon the beautiful face. "Not you," said Leonora; "I am thinking of my father; and how strange it is that he who loves me well, I know, should show his love so little."