This now sparkled in his grey eye, and gave a glow
to his cheek, as he stepped across the threshold, treading on a sprig of
cherry-blossom that had dropped unnoticed to the floor.
Cantapresto, looking after him, caught sight of the flowers and kicked
them aside with a contemptuous toe. "I sometimes think he botanises," he
murmured with a shrug. "The Lord knows what queer notions he gets out of
all these books!"
2.2.
As an infusion of fresh blood to Odo were Alfieri's meteoric returns to
Turin. Life moved languidly in the strait-laced city, even to a young
gentleman a-tiptoe for adventure and framed to elicit it as the
hazel-wand draws water. Not that vulgar distractions were lacking. The
town, as Cantapresto had long since advised him, had its secret
leniencies, its posterns opening on clandestine pleasure; but there was
that in Odo which early turned him from such cheap counterfeits of
living. He accepted the diversions of his age, but with a clear sense of
their worth; and the youth who calls his pleasures by their true name
has learned the secret of resisting them.
Alfieri's coming set deeper springs in motion. His follies and
extravagances were on a less provincial scale than those of Odo's daily
associates. The breath of a freer life clung to him and his allusions
were so many glimpses into a larger world. His political theories were
but the enlargement of his private grievances, but the mere play of
criticism on accepted institutions was an exercise more novel and
exhilirating than the wildest ride on one of his half-tamed
thorough-breds.
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