To Odo's spontaneous yet
reflective temper there was something peculiarly impressive in the kind
of detachment which implies, not obtuseness or indifference, but a
higher sensitiveness disciplined by choice. Now he felt a renewed pang
of regret that such qualities should be found in the service of the
opposition; but the feeling was not incompatible with a wish to be more
nearly acquainted with their possessor.
The two years elapsing since Odo's departure from Pianura had widened if
they had not lifted his outlook. If he had lost something of his early
enthusiasm he had exchanged it for a larger experience of cities and
men, and for the self-command born of varied intercourse. He had reached
a point where he was able to survey his past dispassionately and to
disentangle the threads of the intrigue in which he had so nearly lost
his footing. The actual circumstances of his escape were still wrapped
in mystery: he could only conjecture that the Duchess, foreseeing the
course events would take, had planned with Cantapresto to save him in
spite of himself. His nocturnal flight down the river had carried him to
Ponte di Po, the point where the Piana flows into the Po, the latter
river forming for a few miles the southern frontier of the duchy. Here
his passport had taken him safely past the customs-officer, and
following the indications of the boatman, he had found, outside the
miserable village clustered about the customs, a travelling-chaise which
brought him before the next night-fall to Monte Alloro.
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