ld-barred gate, behind which Fulvia, pale and disordered, struggled in
the clutch of the blind beggar of the Corpus Domini...

He sat up and looked about him. The gate was still there; but as he
gazed it resolved itself into his shuttered window, barred with wide
lines of sunlight. It was day, then! He sprang out of bed and flung open
the shutters. Beneath him lay the piazza of Vercelli, bathed in the
vertical brightness of a summer noon; and as he stared out on this
inexorable scene, the clock over the Hospital struck twelve.

Twelve o'clock! And he had promised to meet Vivaldi at dawn behind the
Umiliati! As the truth forced itself on Odo he dropped into a chair and
hid his face with a groan. He had failed them again, then--and this time
how cruelly and basely! He felt himself the victim of a conspiracy which
in some occult manner was forever forcing him to outrage and betray the
two beings he most longed to serve. The idea of a conspiracy flashed a
sudden light on his evening's diversion, and he sprang up with a cry.
Yes! It was a plot, and any but a dolt must have traced the soprano's
hand in this vulgar assault upon his senses. He choked with anger at the
thought of having played the dupe when two lives he cherished were
staked upon his vigilance...

To his furious summons Cantapresto presented a blank wall of ignorance.
Yes, the Cavaliere had given orders that the carriage should be ready
before daybreak; but who was authorised to wake the cavaliere? After
keeping the carriage two hours at the door Cantapresto had ventured to
send it back to the stable; but the horses should instantly be put to,
and within an hour they would be well forward on their journey.
Meanwhile, should the barber be summoned at once? Or would the cavaliere
first refresh himself with an excellent cup of chocolate, prepared under
Cantapresto's own supervision?

Odo turned on him savagely. "Traitor--spy! In whose pay--?"

But the words roused him to a fresh sense of peril. Cantapresto, though
he might have guessed Odo's intention, was not privy to his plan of
rejoining Vivaldi and Fulvia; and it flashed across the young man that
his self-betrayal must confirm the others' suspicions. His one hope of
protecting his friends was to affect indifference to what had happened;
and this was made easier, by the reflection that Cantapresto was after
all but a tool in more powerful hands. To be spied on was so natural to
an Italian of that day that th