Of the subsequent incidents of the feast—­the banter of the younger women, the duenna’s lachrymose confidences, the incessant interchange of theatrical jargon and coarse pleasantry—­there remained to Odo but a confused image, obscured by the smoke of guttering candles, the fumes of wine and the stifling air of the low-ceilinged tavern.  Even the face of the pretty girl who had dragged him from his concealment, and who now sat at his side, plying him with sweets from her own plate, began to fade into the general blur; and his last impression was of Cantapresto’s figure dilating to immense proportions at the other end of the table, as the soprano rose with shaking wine-glass to favour the company with a song.  The chorus, bursting forth in response, surged over Odo’s drowning senses, and he was barely aware, in the tumult of noise and lights, of an arm slipped about him, a softly-heaving pillow beneath his head, and the gradual subsidence into dark delicious peace.

So, on the first night of his new life, the heir-presumptive of Pianura fell asleep with his head in a dancing-girl’s breast.

1.8.

The travellers were to journey by Vettura from Chivasso to Turin; and when Odo woke next morning the carriage stood ready in the courtyard.

Cantapresto, mottled and shamefaced, with his bands awry and an air of tottering dignity, was gathering their possessions together, and the pretty girl who had pillowed Odo’s slumbers now knelt by his bed and laughingly drew on his stockings.  She was a slim brown morsel, not much above his age, with a glance that flitted like a bird, and round shoulders slipping out of her kerchief.  A wave of shyness bathed Odo to the forehead as their eyes met:  he hung his head stupidly and turned away when she fetched the comb to dress his hair.

His toilet completed, she called out to the abate to go below and see that the cavaliere’s chocolate was ready; and as the door closed she turned and kissed Odo on the lips.

“Oh, how red you are!” she cried laughing.  “Is that the first kiss you’ve ever had?  Then you’ll remember me when you’re Duke of Pianura—­Mirandolina of Chioggia, the first girl you ever kissed!” She was pulling his collar straight while she talked, so that he could not get away from her.  “You will remember me, won’t you?” she persisted.  “I shall be a great actress by that time, and you’ll appoint me prima amorosa to the ducal theatre of Pianura, and throw me a diamond bracelet from your Highness’s box and make all the court ladies ready to poison me for rage!” She released his collar and dropped away from him.  “Ah, no, I shall be a poor strolling player, and you a great prince,” she sighed, “and you’ll never, never think of me again; but I shall always remember that I was the first girl you ever kissed!”

She hung back in a dazzle of tears, looking so bright and tender that Odo’s bashfulness melted like a spring frost.

“I shall never be Duke,” he cried, “and I shall never forget you!” And with that he turned and kissed her boldly and then bolted down the stairs like a hare.  And all that day he scorched and froze with the thought that perhaps she had been laughing at him.