In this fashion the weeks passed and summer came. It was the Duchess's
habit to escape the August heats by retiring to the dower-house on the
Piana, a league beyond the gates; but the little prince being still
under the care of the German physician, who would not consent to his
removal, her Highness reluctantly lingered in Pianura. With the first
leafing of the oaks Odo's old love for the budding earth awoke, and he
rode out daily in the forest toward Pontesordo. It was but a flat
stretch of shade, lacking the voice of streams and the cold breath of
mountain-gorges: a wood without humours or surprises; but the mere
spring of the turf was delightful as he cantered down the grass alleys
roofed with level boughs, the outer sunlight just gilding the lip of the
long green tunnel.
Sometimes he attended the Duchess, but oftener chose to ride alone,
setting forth early after a night at cards or a late vigil in
Crescenti's study. One of these solitary rides brought him without
premeditation to a low building on the fenny edge of the wood. It was a
small house, added, it appeared, to an ancient brick front adorned with
pilasters, perhaps a fragment of some woodland temple. The door-step was
overgrown with a stealthy green moss and tufted with giant fennel; and a
shutter swinging loose on its hinge gave a glimpse of inner dimness. Odo
guessed at once that this was the hunting lodge where Cerveno had found
his death; and as he stood looking out across the oozy secrets of the
marsh, the fever seemed to hang on his steps.
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