Edith Wharton: Complete Works. Edith Wharton

will be guided—but not away from you.”

      She broke away, but with a glance that drew him after. “It is late now and we must set forward,” she said abruptly. “Come to me to-morrow early. I have much more to say to you.”

      The words seemed to be driven out on her quick breathing, and the blood came and went in her cheek like a hurried messenger. She caught up her riding-hat and turned to put it on before the Venice mirror.

      Odo, stepping up behind her, looked over her shoulder to catch the reflection of her blush. Their eyes met for a laughing instant; then he drew back deadly pale, for in the depths of the dim mirror he had seen another face.

      The Duchess cried out and glanced behind her. “Who was it? Did you see her?” she said, trembling.

      Odo mastered himself instantly.

      “I saw nothing,” he returned quietly. “What can your Highness mean?”

      She covered her eyes with her hands. “A girl’s face,” she shuddered—“there in the mirror—behind mine—a pale face with a black travelling-hood over it—”

      He gathered up her gloves and riding-whip and threw open the door of the pavilion.

      “Your Highness is weary and the air here insalubrious. Shall we not ride?” he said.

      Maria Clementina heard him with a blank stare. Suddenly she roused herself and made as though to pass out; but on the threshold she snatched her whip from him and, turning, flung it full at the mirror. Her aim was good and the chiselled handle of the whip shattered the glass to fragments.

      She caught up her long skirt and stepped into the open.

      “I brook no rivals!” said she with a white-lipped smile. “And now, cousin,” she added gaily, “to horse!”

      —————

XV.

      Odo, as in duty bound, waited the next morning on the Duchess; but word was brought that her Highness was indisposed, and could not receive him till evening.

      He passed a drifting and distracted day. The fear lay much upon him that danger threatened Gamba and his associates; yet to seek them out in the present conjuncture might be to play the stalking-horse to their enemies. Moreover, he fancied the Duchess not incapable of using political rumors to further her private caprice; and scenting no immediate danger he resolved to wait upon events.

      On rising from dinner he was surprised by a summons from the Duke. The message, an unusual one at that hour, was brought by a slender pale lad, not in his Highness’s service, but in that of the German physician Heiligenstern. The boy, who was said to be a Georgian rescued from the Grand Signior’s galleys, and whose small oval face was as smooth as a girl’s, accosted Odo in one of the remoter garden alleys with the request to follow him at once to the Duke’s apartment. Odo complied, and his guide loitered ahead with an air of unconcern, as though not wishing to have his errand guessed. As they passed through the tapestry gallery preceding the gentlemen’s antechamber, footsteps and voices were heard within. Instantly the boy was by Odo’s side and had drawn him into the embrasure of a window. A moment later Trescorre left the antechamber and walked rapidly past their hiding-place. As soon as he was out of sight the Georgian led Odo from his concealment and introduced him by a private way to the Duke’s closet.

      His Highness was in his bed-chamber; and Odo, on being admitted, found him, still in dressing-gown and nightcap, kneeling with a disordered countenance before the ancient picture of the Last Judgment that hung on the wall facing his bed. He seemed to have forgotten that he had asked for his kinsman; for on the latter’s entrance he started up with a suspicious glance and hastily closed the panels of the picture, which (as Odo now noticed) appeared to conceal an inner painting. Then, gathering his dressing-gown about him, he led the way to his closet and bade his visitor be seated.

      “I have,” said he, speaking in a low voice, and glancing apprehensively about him, “summoned you hither privately to speak on a subject which concerns none but ourselves.—You met no one on your way?” he broke off to enquire.

      Odo told him that Count Trescorre had passed, but without perceiving him.

      The Duke seemed relieved. “My private actions,” said he querulously, “are too jealously spied upon by my ministers. Such surveillance is an offence to my authority, and my subjects shall learn that it will not frighten me from my course.” He straightened his bent shoulders and tried to put on the majestic look of his official effigy. “It appears,” he continued, with one of his sudden changes of manner, “that the Duchess’s uncle, the Duke of Monte Alloro, has heard favorable reports of your wit and accomplishments, and is desirous of receiving you at his court.” He paused, and Odo concealed his surprise behind a profound bow.

      “I own,” the Duke went on, “that the invitation comes unseasonably, since I should have preferred to keep you at my side; but his Highness’s great age, and his close kinship to my wife, through whom the request is conveyed, make it impossible for me to refuse.” The Duke again paused, as though uncertain how to proceed. At length he resumed:—“I will not conceal from you that his Highness is subject to the fantastical humors of his age. He makes it a condition that the length of your stay shall not be limited; but should you fail to suit his mood you may find yourself out of favor in a week. He writes of wishing to send you on a private mission to the court of Naples; but this may be no more than a passing whim. I see no way, however, but to let you go, and to hope for a favorable welcome for you. The Duchess is determined upon giving her uncle this pleasure, and in fact has consented in return to oblige me in an important matter.” He flushed and averted his eyes. “I name this,” he added with an effort, “only that her Highness may be aware that it depends on herself whether I hold to my side of the bargain. Your papers are already prepared and you have my permission to set out at your convenience. Meanwhile it were well that you should keep your preparations private, at least till you are ready to take leave.” And with the air of dignity he could still assume on occasion, he rose and handed Odo his passport.

      Odo left the closet with a beating heart. It was clear that his departure from Pianura was as strongly opposed by some one in high authority as it was favored by the Duchess; and why opposed and by whom he could not so much as hazard a guess. In the web of court intrigues it was difficult for the wariest to grope his way; and Odo was still new to such entanglements. His first sensation was one of release, of a future suddenly enlarged and cleared. The door was open again to opportunity, and he was of an age to greet the unexpected like a bride. Only one thought disturbed him. It was clear that Maria Clementina had paid high for his security; and did not her sacrifice, whatever its nature, constitute a claim upon his future? In sending him to her uncle, whose known favorite she was, she did not let him out of her hand. If he accepted this chance of escape he must hereafter come and go as she bade. At the thought, his bounding fancy slunk back humbled. He saw himself as Trescorre’s successor, his sovereign’s official lover, taking up again, under more difficult circumstances, and without the zest of inexperience, the dull routine of his former bondage. No, a thousand times no; he would fetter himself to no woman’s fancy! Better find a pretext for staying in Pianura, affront the Duchess by refusing her aid, risk his prospects, his life even, than bow his neck twice to the same yoke. All her charm vanished in this vision of unwilling subjection…

      Disturbed by these considerations, and anxious to compose his spirits, Odo bethought himself of taking refuge in the Bishop’s company. Here at least the atmosphere was clear of mystery: the Bishop held aloof from political intrigue and breathed an air untainted by the odium theologicum. Odo found his lordship seated in the cool tessellated saloon which contained his chiefest treasures—marble busts ranged on pedestals between the windows, the bronze Venus Callipyge, and various tables of pietra commsesa set out with vases and tazzas of antique pattern. A knot of virtuosi gathered about one of these tables were engaged in examining a collection of engraved gems displayed by a lapidary of Florence; while others inspected a Greek manuscript which the Bishop had lately received from Syria. Beyond the windows, a cedrario