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.

He was a diligent and capable administrator, and however mixed might be the motives which attached him to his sovereign, they did not interfere with the exact performance of his duties.  Odo knew this and was grateful for it.  He knew that Trescorre, ambitious of the regency, had intrigued against him to the last.  He knew that an intemperate love of power was the mainspring of that seemingly dispassionate nature.  But death had crossed Trescorre’s schemes; and he was too adroit an opportunist not to see that his best chance now lay in making himself indispensable to his new sovereign.  Of all this Odo was aware; but his own motives in appointing Trescorre did not justify his looking for great disinterestedness in his minister.  The irony of circumstances had forced them upon each other, and each knew that the other understood the situation and was prepared to make the best of it.

The Duke presently rose, and handed back to Trescorre the reports of the secret police.  They were the documents he most disliked to handle.

“You have acquitted yourself admirably of your disagreeable duties,” he said with a smile.  “I hope I have done as well.  At any rate the day is over.”

Trescorre returned the smile, with his usual tinge of irony.  “Another has already begun,” said he.

“Ah,” said Odo, with a touch of impatience, “are we not to sleep on our laurels?”

Trescorre bowed.  “Austria, your Highness, never sleeps.”

Odo looked at him with surprise.  “What do you mean?”

“That I have to remind your Highness—­”

“Of what—?”

Trescorre had one of his characteristic pauses.