He himself was chiefly aware of a sense of relief, of self-recovery, as
though he had at last solved a baffling enigma and found himself once
more at one with his fate.
Suddenly he heard a step behind him. Fulvia had re-entered the room. She
had put off her drenched cloak, but the hair lay in damp strands on her
forehead, deepening her pallor and the lines of weariness under her
eyes. She moved across the room, carrying her head high and advancing
tranquilly to Odo's side. Even in that moment of confused emotions he
was struck by the nobility of her gait and gesture.
She turned to de Crucis, and Odo had the immediate intuition that she
had recognised him.
"Will you let me speak a word privately to the cavaliere Valsecca?" she
said.
The other bowed silently and turned away. The door closed on him, and
Odo and Fulvia remained alone. For a moment neither spoke; then she
said: "That was the abate de Crucis?"
He assented.
She looked at him sadly. "You still believe him to be your friend?"
"Yes," he answered frankly, "I still believe him to be my friend, and,
spite of his cloth, the friend of justice and humanity. But he is here
simply as the Duke's agent. He has been for some time the governor of
Prince Ferrante."
"I knew," she murmured, "I knew--"
He went up to her and caught her hands. "Why do we waste our time upon
him?" he exclaimed impatiently. "Nothing matters but that I am free at
last."
She drew back, gently releasing herself.
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