As to Odo, seated in the state box, with Maria Clementina at his side, and the court dignitaries grouped in the background, he had not listened to a dozen lines before all sense of his surroundings vanished and he became the passive instrument on which the poet played his mighty harmonies.  All the incidental difficulties of life, all the vacillations of an unsatisfied spirit, were consumed in that energising emotion which seemed to leave every faculty stripped for action.  Profounder meaning and more subtle music he had found in the great poets of the past; but here was an appeal to the immediate needs of the hour, uttered in notes as thrilling as a trumpet-call, and brought home to every sense by the vivid imagery of the stage.  Once more he felt the old ardour of belief that Fulvia’s nearness had fanned in him.  His convictions had flagged rather than his courage:  now they started up as at her summons, and he heard the ring of her voice in every line.

He left the theatre still vibrating with this new inrush of life, and jealous of any interruption that should check it.  The Duchess’s birthday was being celebrated by illuminations and fireworks, and throngs of merry-makers filled the moonlit streets; but Odo, after appearing for a moment at his wife’s side on the balcony above the public square, withdrew quietly to his own apartments.  The casement of his closet stood wide, and he leaned against the window-frame, looking out on the silent radiance of the gardens.  As he stood there he saw two figures flit across the farther end of one of the long alleys.  The moonlight surrendered them for a moment, the shade almost instantly reclaiming them—­strayed revellers, doubtless, escaping from the lights and music of the Duchess’s circle.

A knock roused the Duke and he remembered that he had bidden Gamba wait on him after the performance.  He had been curious to hear what impression Alfieri’s drama had produced upon the hunchback; but now any interruption seemed unwelcome, and he turned to Gamba with a gesture of dismissal.

The latter however remained on the threshold.

“Your Highness,” he said, “the bookseller Andreoni craves the privilege of an audience.”

“Andreoni?  At this hour?”

“For reasons so urgent that he makes no doubt of your Highness’s consent; and to prove his good faith, and the need of presenting himself at so undue an hour, and in this private manner, he charged me to give this to your Highness.”

He laid in the Duke’s hand a small object in blackened silver, which on nearer inspection proved to be the ducal coat-of-arms.

Odo stood gazing fixedly at this mysterious token, which seemed to come as an answer to his inmost thoughts.  His heart beat high with confused hopes and fears, and he could hardly control the voice in which he answered:  “Bid Andreoni come to me.”

4.4.

The bookseller began by excusing himself for the liberty he had taken.  He explained that the Signorina Fulvia Vivaldi, in whose behalf he came, was in urgent need of aid, and had begged him to wait on the Duke as soon as the court had risen from the play.