One afternoon, escaping later than usual from the Valentino, Odo had
again bent toward the quiet quarter behind the palace. He was afoot,
with a cloak over his laced coat, and the day being Easter Monday the
streets were filled with a throng of pleasure-seekers amid whom it
seemed easy enough for a man to pass unnoticed. Odo, as he crossed the
Piazza Castello, thought it had never presented a gayer scene. Booths
with brightly-striped awnings had been set up under the arcades, which
were thronged with idlers of all classes; court-coaches dashed across
the square or rolled in and out of the palace-gates; and the Palazzo
Madama, lifting against the sunset its ivory-tinted columns and statues,
seemed rather some pictured fabric of Claude's or Bibbiena's than an
actual building of brick and marble. The turn of a corner carried him
from this spectacle into the solitude of a by-street where his own tread
was the only sound. He walked on carelessly; but suddenly he heard what
seemed an echo of his step. He stopped and faced about. No one was in
sight but a blind beggar crouching at the side-door of the Corpus
Domini. Odo walked on, listening, and again he heard the step, and again
turned to find himself alone. He tried to fancy that his ear had tricked
him; but he knew too much of the subtle methods of Italian espionage not
to feel a secret uneasiness. His better judgment warned him back; but
the desire to spend a pleasant hour prevailed. He took a turn through
the neighbouring streets, in the hope of diverting suspicion, and ten
minutes later was at the Professor's gate.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150