the lives of the saints, with the initial letters painted in miniature,
which he designed to present to his Holiness at Easter.

Meanwhile Odo, at Monte Alloro, found himself in surroundings so
different from those he had left that it seemed incredible they should
exist in the same world. The Duke of Monte Alloro was that rare survival
of a stronger age, a cynic. In a period of sentimental optimism, of
fervid enthusiasms and tearful philanthropy, he represented the
pleasure-loving prince of the Renaissance, crushing his people with
taxes but dazzling them with festivities; infuriating them by his
disregard of the public welfare, but fascinating them by his good looks,
his tolerance of old abuses, his ridicule of the monks, and by the
careless libertinage which had founded the fortunes of more than one
middle-class husband and father--for the Duke always paid well for what
he appropriated. He had grown old in his pleasant sins, and these, as
such raiment will, had grown old and dingy with him; but if no longer
splendid he was still splendour-loving, and drew to his court the most
brilliant adventurers of Italy. Spite of his preference for such
company, he had a nobler side, the ruins of a fine but uncultivated
intelligence, and a taste for all that was young, generous and high in
looks and courage. He was at once drawn to Odo, who instinctively
addressed himself to these qualities, and whose conversation and manners
threw into relief the vulgarity of the old Duke's cronies. The latter
was the shrewd enough to enjoy the contrast at the expense of his
sycophants' vanity; and the cavaliere Valsecca was for a while the
reigning favourite. It would have been hard to say whether his patron
was most tickled by his zeal for economic reforms, or by his faith in
the perfectibility of man. Both these articles of Odo's creed drew tears
of enjoyment from the old Duke's puffy eyes; and he was never tired of
declaring that only his hatred for his nephew of Pianura induced him to