wicked child? But, to be sure, the poor innocent doesn't know! Come
cavaliere, your illustrious mother waits."

"My mother?" The blood rushed to his face; and she had called him
"cavaliere"!

"Not here, my poor lamb! The abate is here; don't you see the lights of
the carriage? There, there, go to him. I haven't told him, your
reverence; it's my silly tender-heartedness that won't let me. He's
always been like one of my own creatures to me--" and she confounded Odo
by bursting into tears.

The abate stood on the doorstep. He was a tall stout man with a hooked
nose and lace ruffles. His nostrils were stained with snuff and he took
a pinch from a tortoise-shell box set with the miniature of a lady; then
he looked down at Odo and shrugged his shoulders.

Odo was growing sick with apprehension. It was two days before the
appointed time for his weekly instruction and he had not prepared his
catechism. He had not even thought of it--and the abate could use the
cane. Odo stood silent and envied girls, who are not disgraced by
crying. The tears were in his throat, but he had fixed principles about
crying. It was his opinion that a little boy who was a cavaliere might
weep when he was angry or sorry, but never when he was afraid; so he
held his head high and put his hand to his side, as though to rest it on
his sword.

The abate sneezed and tapped his snuff-box.

"Come, come, cavaliere, you must be brave--you must be a man; you have