“Nothing could better have served Trescorre; for opposition spurred the Marquess’s languid temper, and he had now the incredible folly to take up his residence in the lodge.  Within three weeks the fever held him.  He was at once taken to Pianura, and on recovering from his seizure was sent to take the mountain air at the baths of Lucca.  But the poison was in his blood.  He never regained more than a semblance of health, and his madness having run its course, his passion for Momola turned to hate of the poor girl to whom he ascribed his destruction.  Giannozzo, meanwhile, terrified by the report that the Duke had winded the intrigue, and fearing to be charged with connivance, thought to prove his innocence by casting off his wife and disowning her child.

“What part I played in this grim business I leave your excellency to conceive.  As the Marquess’s creature I was forced to assist at the spectacle without power to stay its consequences; but when the child was born I carried the news to my master and begged him to come to the mother’s aid.  For answer, he had me beaten by his lacqueys and flung out of his house.  I stomached the beating and addressed myself to Trescorre.  My noble brother, whose insight is seldom at fault, saw that I knew enough to imperil him.  The Marquess was dying and his enemy could afford to be generous.  He gave me a little money and the following year obtained from the Duke my appointment as assistant librarian.  In this way I was able to give Momola a home, and to save her child from the Innocenti.  She and I, cavaliere, are the misshapen offspring of that cruel foster-parent, who rears more than half the malefactors in the state; but please heaven the boy shall have a better start in life, and perhaps grow up to destroy some of the evils on which that cursed charity thrives.”

This narrative, and the sight of Momola and her child, followed so strangely on the spectacle of sordid misery he had witnessed at Pontesordo, that an inarticulate pity held Odo by the throat.  Gamba’s anger against the people at the farm seemed as senseless as their own cruelty to their animals.  What were they all—­Momola, her child, and her persecutors—­but a sickly growth of the decaying social order?  He felt an almost physical longing for fresh air, light, the rush of a purifying wind through the atmosphere of moral darkness that surrounded him.

2.12.

To relieve the tension of his thoughts he set forth to Gamba the purpose of his visit.

“I am,” said he, “much like a stranger at a masked ball, where all the masks are acquainted with each other’s disguises and concerted to mystify the visitor.  Among the persons I have met at court several have shown themselves ready to guide me through this labyrinth; but, till they themselves unmask and declare their true characters, I am doubtful whither they may lead me; nor do I know of any so well fitted as yourself to give me a clue to my surroundings.  As for my own disguise,” he added with a smile, “I believe I removed it sufficiently on our first meeting to leave you no doubt as to the use to which your information will be put.”