As he did so,
the picture suddenly opened, disclosing the inner panel. Odo caught up
one of the flambeaux, and in its light, as on a sunlit wave, there
stepped forth to him the lost Venus of Giorgione.
He knew the picture in an instant. There was no mistaking the glow of
the limbs, the midsummer languor of the smile, the magical atmosphere in
which the gold of sunlight, of autumn leaves, of amber grapes, seemed
fused by some lost alchemy of the brush. As he gazed, the scene changed,
and he saw himself in a darkened room with cabalistic hangings. He saw
Heiligenstern's tall figure, towering in supernatural light, the Duke
leaning eagerly forward, the Duchess with set lips and troubled eyes,
the little prince bent wonderingly above the magic crystal...
A step in the antechamber announced Trescorre's approach. Odo returned
to the cabinet and the minister advanced with a low bow. The two men had
had time to grow accustomed to the new relation in which they stood to
one another, yet there were moments when, to Odo, the past seemed to lie
like fallen leaves beneath Trescorre's steps--Donna Laura, fond and
foolish in her weeds, Gamba, Momola, and the pure featherhead Cerveno,
dying at nineteen of a distemper because he had stood in the other's
way. The impression was strong on him now--but it was only momentary.
Habit reasserted itself, and the minister effaced the man. Odo signed to
Trescorre to seat himself and the latter silently presented his report.
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