past like their great predecessors, were engrossed in a sterile
restoration of the letter. It may be said of this school of architects
that they were of more service to posterity than to their
contemporaries; for while they opened the way to modern antiquarian
research, their pedantry checked the natural development of a style
which, if left to itself, might in time have found new and more vigorous
forms of expression.

To Odo, happily, Count Benedetto's surroundings spoke more forcibly than
his theories. Every object in the calm severe rooms appealed to the boy
with the pure eloquence of form. Casts of the Vatican busts stood
against the walls and a niche at one end of the library contained a
marble copy of the Apollo Belvedere. The sarcophagi with their winged
genii, their garlands and bucranes, and porphyry tazzas, the fragments
of Roman mosaic and Pompeian fresco-painting, roused Odo's curiosity as
if they had been the scattered letters of a new alphabet; and he saw
with astonishment his friend Vittorio's indifference to these wonders.
Count Benedetto, it was clear, was resigned to his nephew's lack of
interest. The old man doubtless knew that he represented to the youth
only the rich uncle whose crotchets must be humoured for the sake of
what his pocket may procure; and such kindly tolerance made Odo regret
that Vittorio should not at least affect an interest in his uncle's
pursuits.

Odo's eagerness to see and learn filled Count Benedetto with a simple
joy. He brought forth all his treasures for the boy's instruction and
the two spent many an afternoon poring over Piranesi's Roman etchings,
Maffei's Verona Illustrata, and Count Benedetto's own elegant
pencil-drawings of classical remains. Like all students of his day he
had also his cabinet of antique gems and coins, from which Odo obtained