to desert his post rather than be separated from his daughter."

The name brought the colour to Odo's brow, and with an embarrassed air
he asked what news the doctor had of their friend.

"Alas," said the other, "the last was of his death, which happened two
years since in Pavia. The Sardinian government had, as you probably
know, confiscated his small property on his leaving the state, and I am
told he died in great poverty, and in sore anxiety for his daughter's
future." He added that these events had taken place before his own
departure from Turin, and that since then he had learned nothing of
Fulvia's fate, save that she was said to have made her home with an aunt
who lived in a town of the Veneto.

Odo listened in silence. The lapse of time, and the absence of any links
of association, had dimmed the girl's image in his breast; but at the
mere sound of her name it lived again, and he felt her interwoven with
his deepest fibres. The picture of her father's death and of her own
need filled him with an ineffectual pity, and for a moment he thought of
seeking her out; but the other could recall neither the name of the town
she had removed to nor that of the relative who had given her a home.

To aid the good doctor was a simpler business. The intervention of de
Crucis and Odo's own influence sufficed to effect his release, and on
the payment of a heavy fine (in which Odo privately assisted him) he was
reinstated in his chair. The only promise exacted by the Holy Office was
that he should in future avoid propounding his own views on questions
already decided by Scripture, and to this he readily agreed, since, as
he shrewdly remarked to Odo, his opinions were now well-known, and any
who wished farther instruction had only to apply to him privately.