ry corner
of the present.

Through his own connections, and the influence of de Crucis, he saw all
that was best not only among the nobility, but in that ecclesiastical
life now more than ever predominant in Rome. Here at last he was face to
face with the mighty Sphinx, and with the bleaching bones of those who
had tried to guess her riddle. Wherever he went these "lost adventurers"
walked the streets with him, gliding between the Princes of the Church
in the ceremonies of Saint Peter's and the Lateran, or mingling in the
company that ascended the state staircase at some cardinal's levee.

He met indeed many accomplished and amiable ecclesiastics, but it seemed
to him that the more thoughtful among them had either acquired their
peace of mind at the cost of a certain sensitiveness, or had taken
refuge in a study of the past, as the early hermits fled to the desert
from the disorders of Antioch and Alexandria. None seemed disposed to
face the actual problems of life, and this attitude of caution or
indifference had produced a stagnation of thought that contrasted
strongly with the animation of Sir William Hamilton's circle in Naples.
The result in Odo's case was a reaction toward the pleasures of his age;
and of these Rome had but few to offer. He spent some months in the
study of the antique, purchasing a few good examples of sculpture for
the Duke, and then, without great reluctance, set out for Monte Alloro.

Here he found a changed atmosphere. The Duke welcomed him handsomely,
and bestowed the highest praise on the rarities he had collected; but
for the moment the court was ruled by a new favourite, to whom Odo's
coming was obviously unwelcome. This adroit adventurer, whose name was
soon to become notorious throughout Europe, had taken the old prince by
his darling weaknesses, and Odo, having no mind to share in the excesses
of the precious couple, seized the first occasion to set out again on
his travels.

His course had now become one of aimless wandering; for prudence still
forbade his return to Pianura, and his patron's indifference left him
free to come and go as he chose. He had brought from Rome--that albergo
d'ira--a settled melancholy of spirit, which sought refuge in such
distractions as the moment offered. In such a mood change of scene was a
necessity, and he resolved to employ the next months in visiting several
of the mid-Italian cities. Toward Florence he was specially drawn by the
fact that Alfier