“Listen to me, my friends,” he pursued. “The famous astrologer, Cornelius Agrippa, of whom you must have heard, foretold that I should die before the walls of a great city. It may be here--before Rome--that I am destined to perish. If it be so, I care not. The death will be glorious--worthy of a soldier. I shall lead the assault without fear, certain that you, my brave companions, will capture the city, and avenge me.” “'Tis a false prediction!” cried a hundred voices. “We will all guard you. You will not die thus. You are destined to be King of Rome.” “Be my fate what it may,” said Bourbon--“whether I share your triumph, or die beforehand, I know that Rome, with all its treasures, with its Pope, its cardinals, its nobles, and its fair women, will be yours. And now return to your tents, and take your rest. You will have enough to do to-morrow. An hour before dawn, make ready for the assault. Your captains have their full directions. You may rest without fear. I will take care that strict watch is kept.” The soldiers then dispersed, singing, “Calla, calla! Viva la fama de Bourbon!” “You have no faith in that idle prediction?” remarked the Prince of Orange to Bourbon, as he accompanied him to his tent. “I have scarcely thought of it before to-day, but it came upon me forcibly as I gazed on Rome this evening from the Monte Mario,” rejoined Bourbon. “If I should fall, you must take the command of the army.” “No such necessity, I trust, may arise,” said Philibert. “But the army shall not want a leader.” “It will have a good one in you,” rejoined Bourbon. “And now leave me. Come to me an hour before daybreak.” With this the Prince of Orange departed, and Bourbon was left alone, and passed several hours in deep self-communion. About midnight he roused himself, and, issuing from his tent, looked around. It was a glorious night, and the old walls that rose before him were bathed in the moonbeams. The camp was hushed, and all was so still at the moment, that the tread of the sentinels could be heard on the ramparts. Having looked around for a short time, he re-entered his tent, trimmed his lamp, and sat down to look at a plan of Rome, which was laid on the table before him. From this occupation he was roused by the noise of some one entering the tent, and, looking up, he perceived Pomperant, accompanied by a nun. Surprised at the sight, he inquired why he was thus disturbed. “The holy sister herself will explain her errand,” replied Pomperant. “She has ventured forth from the city to see your highness, and I could not refuse to bring her to you.” “You have done wrong,” said Bourbon, sternly. “I have no time to waste on women now. Depart, good sister.” “Dismiss me not, I pray your highness, till you have heard what I have to say,” rejoined the nun. “Am I so much changed? Does this garb disguise me so greatly, that you fail to recognise Marcelline d'Herment?” “Marcelline d'Herment!” exclaimed Bourbon, in surprise.