ere led; but presently
there rose a shout of "Cantapresto!" and a ring of waving arms and
flashing teeth encircled his companion.

These appendages belonged to a troop of men and women, some masked and
in motley, others in discoloured travel-stained garments, who pressed
about the soprano with cries of joyous recognition. He was evidently an
old favourite of the band, for a duenna in tattered velvet fell on his
neck with genial unreserve, a pert soubrette caught him by the arm the
duenna left free, and a terrific Matamor with a nose like a scimitar
slapped him on the back with a tin sword.

Odo's glimpse of the square at Oropa told him that here was a band of
strolling players such as Cantapresto had talked of on the ride back to
Donnaz. Don Gervaso's instructions and the old Marchioness's warning
against the theatre were present enough in the boy's mind to add a touch
of awe to the curiosity with which he observed these strange objects of
the Church's reprobation. They struck him, it must be owned, as more
pitiable than alarming, for the duenna's toes were coming through her
shoes, and one or two of the children who hung on the outskirts of the
group looked as lean and hungry under their spangles as the
foundling-girl of Pontesordo. Spite of this they seemed a jolly crew,
and ready (at Cantapresto's expense) to celebrate their encounter with
the ex-soprano in unlimited libations of Asti and Val Pulicello. The
singer, however, hung back with protesting gestures.

"Gently, then, gently, dear friends--dear companions! When was it we
parted? In the spring of the year--and we meet now in the late summer.
As the seasons change so do our conditions: if the spring is a season of
folly, then is the harvest-time the period for reflection. When we last
met I was a strolling poet, glad to serve your gifted company within the
scope of my talents--now, ladies and gentlemen, now"--he drew himself up
with pride--"now you behold in me the governor and friend of the
heir-presumptive of Pianura."

Cries of incredulity and derision greeted this announcement, and one of
the girls called out laughingly, "Yet you have the same old cassock to
your back!"

"And the same old passage from your mouth to your belly," added an
elastic Harlequin, reaching an arm across the women's shoulders. "Come,
Cantapresto, we'll help you line it with good wine, to the health of his
most superlatively serene Highness, the heir-presumptive of Pianura; and
w