Though Odo had been bred in an abhorrence of the theatre, the strange creature’s aspect so pricked his compassion that he asked him what he was now engaged in; at which Cantapresto piteously cried, “Alas, what am I not engaged in, if the occasion offers?  For whatever a man’s habit, he will not wear it long if it cover an empty belly; and he that respects his calling must find food enough to continue in it.  But as for me, sir, I have put a hand to every trade, from composing scenarios for the ducal company of Pianura, to writing satirical sonnets for noblemen that desire to pass for wits.  I’ve a pretty taste, too, in compiling almanacks, and when nothing else served I have played the public scrivener at the street corner; nay, sir, necessity has even driven me to hold the candle in one or two transactions I would not more actively have mixed in; and it was to efface the remembrance of one of these—­for my conscience is still over-nice for my condition—­that I set out on this laborious pilgrimage.”

Much of this was unintelligible to Odo; but he was moved by any mention of Pianura, and in the abate’s first pause he risked the question—­“Do you know the hump-backed boy Brutus?”

His companion stared and pursed his soft lips.

“Brutus?” says he.  “Brutus?  Is he about the Duke’s person?”

“He lives in the palace,” said Odo doubtfully.

The fat ecclesiastic clapped a hand to his thigh.

“Can it be your excellency has in mind the foundling boy Carlo Gamba?  Does the jackanapes call himself Brutus now?  He was always full of his classical allusions!  Why, sir, I think I know him very well; he is even rumoured to be a brother of Don Lelio Trescorre’s, and I believe the Duke has lately given him to the Marquess of Cerveno, for I saw him not long since in the Marquess’s livery at Pontesordo.”

“Pontesordo?” cried Odo.  “It was there I lived.”

“Did you indeed, cavaliere?  But I think you will have been at the Duke’s manor of that name; and it was the hunting-lodge on the edge of the chase that I had in mind.  The Marquess uses it, I believe, as a kind of casino; though not without risk of a distemper.  Indeed, there is much wonder at his frequenting it, and ’tis said he does so against the Duke’s wishes.”

The name of Pontesordo had set Odo’s memories humming like a hive of bees, and without heeding his companion’s allusions he asked—­“And did you see the Momola?”

The other looked his perplexity.

“She’s an Innocent too,” Odo hastened to explain.  “She is Filomena’s servant at the farm.”

The abate at this, standing still in the road, screwed up his eyelids and protruded a relishing lip.  “Eh, eh,” said he, “the girl from the farm, you say?” And he gave a chuckle.  “You’ve an eye, cavaliere, you’ve an eye,” he cried, his soft body shaking with enjoyment; but before Odo could make a guess at his meaning their conversation was interrupted by a sharp call from the litter.  The abate at once disappeared in the crowd, and a moment later the litter had debouched on the grassy quadrangle before the outer gates of the monastery.  This space was set in beech-woods, amid which gleamed the white-pillared chapels of the Way of the Cross; and the devouter pilgrims, dispersed beneath the trees, were ascending from one chapel to another, preparatory to entering the church.