that she had been instructed to avoid his company; and after the first disappointment he was too honest to regret it.  He was deeply drawn to the girl; but what part could she play in the life of a man of his rank?  The cadet of an impoverished house, it was unlikely that he would marry; and should he do so, custom forbade even the thought of taking a wife outside of his class.  Had he been admitted to free intercourse with Fulvia, love might have routed such prudent counsels; but in the society of her father’s associates, where she moved, as in a halo of learning, amid the respectful admiration of middle-aged philosophers and jurists, she seemed as inaccessible as a young Minerva.

Odo, at first, had been careful not to visit Vivaldi too often; but the Professor’s conversation was so instructive, and his library so inviting, that inclination got the better of prudence, and the young man fell into the habit of turning almost daily down the lane behind the Corpus Domini.  Vivaldi, too proud to betray any concern for his personal safety, showed no sign of resenting the frequency of these visits; indeed, he received Odo with an increasing cordiality that, to an older observer, might have betokened an effort to hide his apprehension.

One afternoon, escaping later than usual from the Valentino, Odo had again bent toward the quiet quarter behind the palace.  He was afoot, with a cloak over his laced coat, and the day being Easter Monday the streets were filled with a throng of pleasure-seekers amid whom it seemed easy enough for a man to pass unnoticed.  Odo, as he crossed the Piazza Castello, thought it had never presented a gayer scene.  Booths with brightly-striped awnings had been set up under the arcades, which were thronged with idlers of all classes; court-coaches dashed across the square or rolled in and out of the palace-gates; and the Palazzo Madama, lifting against the sunset its ivory-tinted columns and statues, seemed rather some pictured fabric of Claude’s or Bibbiena’s than an actual building of brick and marble.  The turn of a corner carried him from this spectacle into the solitude of a by-street where his own tread was the only sound.  He walked on carelessly; but suddenly he heard what seemed an echo of his step.  He stopped and faced about.  No one was in sight but a blind beggar crouching at the side-door of the Corpus Domini.  Odo walked on, listening, and again he heard the step, and again turned to find himself alone.  He tried to fancy that his ear had tricked him; but he knew too much of the subtle methods of Italian espionage not to feel a secret uneasiness.  His better judgment warned him back; but the desire to spend a pleasant hour prevailed.  He took a turn through the neighbouring streets, in the hope of diverting suspicion, and ten minutes later was at the Professor’s gate.