Odo was still trying to thread a way through these conjectures when a yawning ostler pushed open the stable-door.

“Your excellency is in a hurry to be gone,” he said, with a surprised glance.

Odo handed him the coat-of-arms.  “Can you tell me what this is?” he asked carelessly.  “I picked it up here a moment ago.”

The other turned it over and stared.  “Why,” said he, “that’s off the harness of the gentleman that supped here last night—­the same that went on later to Peschiera.”

Odo proceeded to question him about the mule-tracks over Monte Baldo, and having bidden him saddle the horses in half an hour, crossed the courtyard and re-entered the inn.  A grey light was already falling through the windows, and he mounted the stairs and knocked on the door which he thought must be Fulvia’s.  Her voice bade him enter and he found her seated fully dressed beside the window.  She rose with a smile and he saw that she had regained her usual self-possession.

“Do we set out at once?” she asked.

“There is no great haste,” he answered.  “You must eat first, and by that time the horses will be saddled.”

“As you please,” she returned, with a readiness in which he divined the wish to make amends for her wilfulness the previous night.  Her eyes and cheeks glowed with an excitement which counterfeited the effects of a night’s rest, and he thought he had never seen her more radiant.  She approached the table on which the wine and bread had been placed, and drew another chair beside her own.

“Will you not share with me?” she asked, filling a glass for him.

He took it from her with a smile.  “I have good news for you,” he said, holding out the bit of silver which he had brought from the stable.

She examined it wonderingly.  “What does this mean?” she asked, looking up at him.

“That it is I who am being followed—­and not you.”

She started and the ornament slipped from her hand.

“You?” she faltered with a quick change of colour.

“This coat-of-arms,” he explained, “dropped from the harness of the traveller who left the inn just before our arrival last night.”

“Well—­” she said, still without understanding; “and do you know the coat?”

Odo smiled.  “It is mine,” he answered; “and the crown is my cousin’s.  The traveller must have been a messenger of the Duke’s.”

She stood leaning against the seat from which she had risen, one hand still grasping it while the other hung inert.  Her lips parted but she did not speak.  Her pallor troubled Odo and he went up to her and took her hand.

“Do you not understand,” he said gently, “that there is no farther cause for alarm?  I have no reason to think that the Duke’s messenger is in pursuit of me; but should he be so, and should he overtake us, he has no authority over you and no reason for betraying you to your enemies.”