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 favoured 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 favourite 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 commessa 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 or orange-walk stretched its sunlit vista to the terrace above the river; and the black cassocks of one or two priests who were strolling in the clear green shade of a pleached alley made pleasant spots of dimness in the scene.

Even here, however, Odo was aware of a certain disquietude.  The Bishop’s visitors, instead of engaging in animated disputations over his lordship’s treasures, showed a disposition to walk apart, conversing in low tones; and he himself, presently complaining of the heat, invited Odo to accompany him to the grot beneath the terrace.  In this shaded retreat, studded with shells and coral and cooled by an artificial wind forced through the conchs of marble Tritons, his lordship at once began to speak of the rumours of public disaffection.