reflected the flush. Was it possible--? But the thought set him tingling
with disgust.

"Why, you say little," he cried lightly, "at the rate at which I value
my life."

Alfieri turned on him. "If your life is worthless; make it worth
something!" he exclaimed. "I offer you the opportunity tonight."

"What opportunity?"

"The sight of a face that men have laid down their lives to see."

Odo laughed and buckled on his sword. "If you answer for the risk, I
agree to take it," said he. "At ten o'clock then, behind the Corpus
Domini."

If the ladies whom gallant gentlemen delight to serve could guess what
secret touchstones of worth these same gentlemen sometimes carry into
the adored presence, many a handsome head would be carried with less
assurance, and many a fond exaction less confidently imposed. If, for
instance, the Countess Clarice di Tournanches, whose high-coloured image
reflected itself so complacently in her Venetian toilet-glass, could
have known that the Cavaliere Odo Valsecca's devoted glance saw her
through the medium of a countenance compared to which her own revealed
the most unexpected shortcomings, she might have received him with less
airy petulance of manner. But how could so accomplished a mistress doubt
the permanence of her rule? The Countess Clarice, in singling out young
Odo Valsecca (to the despair of a score of more experienced cavaliers)
had done him an honour that she could no more imagine his resigning than