Through all these figures came and went another, to Odo the most noticeable,—­that of a handsome young man with a high manner, dressed always in black, but with an excess of lace ruffles and jewels, a clouded amber head to his cane, and red heels to his shoes.  This young gentleman, whose age could not have been more than twenty, and who had the coldest insolent air, was treated with profound respect by all but Donna Laura, who was for ever quarrelling with him when he was present, yet could not support his absence without lamentations and alarm.  The abate appeared to act as messenger between the two, and when he came to say that the Count rode with the court, or was engaged to sup with the Prime Minister, or had business on his father’s estate in the country, the lady would openly yield to her distress, crying out that she knew well enough what his excuses meant:  that she was the most cruelly outraged of women, and that he treated her no better than a husband.

For two days Odo languished in his corner, whisked by the women’s skirts, smothered under the hoops and falbalas which the dressmakers unpacked from their cases, fed at irregular hours, and faring on the whole no better than at Pontesordo.  The third morning, Vanna, who seemed the most good-natured of the women, cried out on his pale looks when she brought him his cup of chocolate.  “I declare,” she exclaimed, “the child has had no air since he came in from the farm.  What does your excellency say?  Shall the hunchback take him for a walk in the gardens?”

To this her excellency, who sat at her toilet under the hair-dresser’s hands, irritably replied that she had not slept all night and was in no state to be tormented about such trifles, but that the child might go where he pleased.

Odo, who was very weary of his corner, sprang up readily enough when Vanna, at this, beckoned him to the inner ante-chamber.  Here, where persons of a certain condition waited (the outer being given over to servants and tradesmen), they found a lean humpbacked boy, shabbily dressed in darned stockings and a faded coat, but with an extraordinary keen pale face that at once attracted and frightened the child.

“There, go with him; he won’t eat you,” said Vanna, giving him a push as she hurried away; and Odo, trembling a little, laid his hand in the boy’s.  “Where do you come from?” he faltered, looking up into his companion’s face.

The boy laughed and the blood rose to his high cheekbones.  “I?—­From the Innocenti, if your Excellency knows where that is,” said he.

Odo’s face lit up.  “Of course I do,” he cried, reassured.  “I know a girl who comes from there—­the Momola at Pontesordo.”

“Ah, indeed?” said the boy with a queer look.  “Well, she’s my sister, then.  Give her my compliments when you see her, cavaliere.  Oh, we’re a large family, we are!”

Odo’s perplexity was returning.  “Are you really Momola’s brother?” he asked.