e victim's instinct was rather to
circumvent the spy than to denounce him.

Odo dismissed Cantapresto with the reply that he would give orders about
the carriage later; desiring that meanwhile the soprano should purchase
the handsomest set of filigree ornaments to be found in Vercelli, and
carry them with the Cavaliere Valsecca's compliments to the Signorina
Malmocco.

Having thus rid himself of observation he dressed as rapidly as
possible, trying the while to devise some means of tracing Vivaldi. But
the longer he pondered the attempt the more plainly he saw its futility.
Vivaldi, doubtless from motives of prudence, had not named the friend
with whom he and Fulvia were to take shelter; nor did Odo even know in
what quarter of the city to seek them. To question the police was to
risk their last chance of safety; and for the same reason he dared not
enquire of the posting-master whether any travellers had set out that
morning for Lombardy. His natural activity of mind was hampered by a
leaden sense of remissness. With what anguish of spirit must Vivaldi and
Fulvia have awaited him in that hour of dawn behind the convent! What
thoughts must have visited the girl's mind as day broadened, the city
woke, and peril pressed on them with every voice and eye! And when at
length they saw that he had failed them, which way did their hunted
footsteps turn? Perhaps they dared not go back to the friend who had
taken them in for the night. Perhaps even now they wandered through the
streets, fearing arrest if they revealed themselves by venturing to
engage a carriage, at every turn of his thoughts Odo was mocked by some
vision of disaster; and an hour of perplexity yielded no happier
expedient than that of repairing to the meeting-place behind the
Umiliati. It was a deserted lane with few passers; and after vainly
questioning the blank wall of the convent and the gates of a
sinister-looking alms-house that faced it, he retraced his steps to the
inn.

He spent a day of futile research and bitter thoughts, now straying
forth in the hope of meeting Vivaldi, now hastening back to the Three
Crowns on the chance that some message might await him. He dared not let
his mind rest on what might have befallen his friends; yet the
alternative of contemplating his own course was scarcely more endurable.
Nightfall brought the conviction that the Professor and Fulvia had
passed beyond his reach. It was clear that if they were still in
Vercelli t