As the day passed,
however, he began to throw off his apprehensions. It was not the first
time since he had come to Pianura that there had been ominous talk of
political disturbances, and he knew that Gamba and his friends were not
without means of getting under shelter. As to his own risk, he did not
give it a thought. He was not of an age or a temper to weigh personal
danger against the excitement of conflict; and as evening drew on he
found himself wondering with some impatience if after all nothing
unusual would happen.
He supped alone, and at the appointed hour proceeded to the Duke's
apartments, taking no farther precaution than to carry his passport
about him. The palace seemed deserted. Everywhere an air of apprehension
and mystery hung over the long corridors and dimly-lit antechambers. The
day had been sultry, with a low sky foreboding great heat, and not a
breath of air entered at the windows. There were few persons about, but
one or two beggars lurked as usual on the landings of the great
staircase, and Odo, in passing, felt his sleeve touched by a woman
cowering under the marble ramp in the shadow thrown by a colossal
Caesar. Looking down, he heard a voice beg for alms, and as he gave it
the woman pressed a paper into his hand and slipped away through the
darkness.
Odo hastened on till he could assure himself of being unobserved; then
he unfolded the paper and read these words in Gamba's hand: "Have no
fear for any one's safety but your own.
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