The Valley of Decision | Page 9

than if he had never seen
him, and a succession of ladies brimming with condolences, and each
followed by a servant who swelled the noisy crowd of card-playing
lacqueys in the ante-chamber.
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.
"Eh, in a way--we're children of the same house."
"But you live in the palace, don't you?" Odo persisted, his curiosity
surmounting his fear. "Are you a servant of my mother's?"
"I'm the servant of your illustrious mother's servants; the abatino of the
waiting-women. I write their love-letters, do you see, cavaliere, I carry
their rubbish to the pawnbroker's when their sweethearts have bled

them of their savings; I clean the birdcages and feed the monkeys, and
do the steward's accounts when he's drunk, and sleep on a bench in the
portico and steal my food from the pantry...and my father very likely
goes in velvet and carries a sword at his side."
The boy's voice had grown shrill, and his eyes blazed like an owl's in
the dark. Odo would have given the world to be back in his corner, but
he was ashamed to betray his lack of heart; and to give himself courage
he asked haughtily: "And what is your name, boy?"
The hunchback gave him a gleaming look. "Call me Brutus," he cried,
"for Brutus killed a tyrant." He gave Odo's hand a pull. "Come along,"
said he, "and I'll show you his statue in the garden--Brutus's statue in a
prince's garden, mind you!" And as the little boy trotted at his side
down the long corridors he kept repeating under his breath in a kind of
angry sing-song, "For Brutus killed a tyrant."
The sense of strangeness inspired by his odd companion soon gave way
in Odo's mind to