On the same night upon which the above related events took place, the ducal palace was brilliantly illuminated, and sounds of festivity proceeded from the lofty portals. Duke Gualtieri held his high revel. Troops of noble cavaliers and throngs of high-born dames filled the grand hall of audience, at the top of which was the duke, seated upon an elevated dais, covered with superb hangings, and surrounded by the military chiefs of his faction. Gualtieri was a tall, muscular man of fifty, in the expression of whose countenance a sort of soldierly frankness struggled with a fierce and scornful air. He was splendidly attired in a tunic of purple velvet, with hose of rich sendal, and over his shoulder was thrown his ermined cloak. His head was covered with the ducal coronet, and his neck encircled by a gorgeous chain of twisted gold and jewellery. Near him stood Giulio D’Assisi, the dreaded bargello, or head of police. This last was a man of middle age, attired in scarlet robes, with a face strongly marked by the traces of brutal passion.

“A higher measure!” shouted the duke. “By the honor of the virgin, I think our cavaliers be ungracious to-night, or else these fair dames are more intent upon their beads than their lavoltas. Ha! gallants? hath our air of Florence so dull and muddy a taste to the cavaliers of Provence, that it seemeth to quench the fire of their courtesy?”

“By my halidome!” said the bargello, “your highness speaks well and merrily. The air of Florence, methinks, hath an exceeding thick complexion, in comparison with the more delicate breezes which fan the soil of France.”

“Thou hast aided to thicken it with a vengeance,” said the duke with a grim smile. “Ha, Giulio, the blood of these swine of Florence, whom thou draggest to thy shambles, might well make the air murky?”

“By the patrimony of St. Peter,” replied D’Assisi, “it is but a needful phlebotomy. Marry, if the leech were more often employed in cleansing the veins of your Florentine state, it were good for the health and purification of the remaining body politic.”

“Thou art the prince of provosts, my friend,” said the duke.

“What, Rinaldo, is it thou? and away from the fair Matilde? When did this happen before in Florence?”

The person addressed was a tall, elegant cavalier, whose manly countenance was rendered yet more interesting by the melancholy expression of his eyes. He was plainly, but handsomely attired in a costly suit of dark brown velvet, embroidered with seed pearls.

“May it please your highness,” said Rinaldo, Comte D’Hunteville, (for he was no less a personage,) “I have news of some import to communicate. An esquire of mine, passing this night through the Porta san Piero, discovered a person, whom he recognized as Pino D’Rossi, the chief of the balia, accompanied by the Count Ugolino, and one whom he knew not, proceeding in the direction of the palace of the Adimari. There are also rumors of seditious meetings which have been held there, and I fear—”

“Tush, man,” interrupted De Brienne. “Canst speak of business when so fair a throng of ladies decks our court? or couple the word fear with these dogs of Florence? They shall be cared for; but they have lost the power to harm. Marry, as for the will, we doubt not of that. As for that notorious villain, Ugolino, who has dared to aspire to the hand of our sister,” continued he, while the fire of rage sparkled in his eyes, “and through whom such infamous aspersions have been cast upon the honor of the house of Brienne, I have my spies upon him. The least imprudent action he dares commit, our trusty Giulio will take order it be not repeated. Forward, Comte D’Hunteville, to the dance!”

Hardly had the duke spoken these words, ere a man of singularly unprepossessing countenance, entered the apartment. He was of small stature, with a dark, thin visage; restless, inquisitive eyes, and a hooked nose. He wore a plain, civil suit, and a walking rapier, more for ornament than use, decorated his side. Quickly approaching the duke, he whispered a few words in his ear. The duke started.

“Art thou mad, man? A meeting at the palace of the Adimari! Pompeo Medici there? Why was this not known sooner? Giulio, thy spies have misled thee for the once! Why, they were desperate enemies, in whose feud I placed a deep dependence for safety. Rinaldo, saidst thou that D’Rossi was there?”

“Mine esquire hath so informed me, please your grace.”

“By the mass, I doubt some treachery. When Medici and Adimari shake hands, their union is not to be despised. But thanks at least for this information. Hark thee, Cerettieri, be it thy care to look farther into this matter. Arrest this Adimari and Pino D’Rossi this very night. Away—their plans shall never be matured! So, gallants, let us again address ourselves to the festivity of the hour.”