The Hound of Florence Read Online Free PDF

sleeping as if nothing had happened.”
    The Archduke shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well, so long as he’s back! Don’t you ever run away from me again, you vagabond!” he added, leaning forward and addressing the dog under the table. All the courtiers laughed.
    But on the following day the dog disappeared again.
    This time Lucas wandered about the woods on the snow-clad hills, in country that was quite strange to him. He made no attempt to return to Vienna, for it was clear that the city must now be too far away, and that it would be impossible for him to reach it from this hilly country in a day’s march. Moreover, he was beginning to see the futility of trying to escape. He set to work carefully to recapitulate all that had happened, and reach some decision which would enable him to face with greater confidence whatever the future held in store. But his fears constantly got the better of him. Twice he had scoured the countryside as a dog, and he knew by now, with all his senses fully awake, that it had been no dream. He had been lured away, over hill and down dale, away from the city to which it was impossible for him now to return. And he must perforce continue the journey. There had been a time when this had been the darling wish of his heart. In fact it was only three days ago, but now it seemed to be ages back, lost in the mists of time. And lo! his wish had been fulfilled so that it seemed nothing but a bitter mockery; it had been granted in such an unmerciful way as to debase him. He was harnessed to the life of a dog, forced to follow its tracks, and shivering with cold and trembling with hunger, was compelled to creep along whatever road the dog chose to take.
    Toward nightfall Lucas was standing on the top of the hill looking on the lights beginning to twinkle in the little town far down below at his feet. Utterly exhausted, he remained rooted to the spot. It grew darker and darker. Presently, sitting down in the snow, he counted the chimes as they rang out from the church towers in the valley, and with resigned but breathless curiosity, awaited the transformation. It took place at midnight. He only just had time to hear the first stroke of the hour, when he felt a sudden shock, similar to the one he had experienced before, when he had been standing at his attic window. It fell on him before he could draw a single breath; he thought the ground was opening beneath his feet. Just as he imagined he was taking leave of his senses, he felt himself being violently whisked away. And the next moment he was once more lying in warm straw, his sharpened olfactory nerves became aware of the scent of hay about him, and the smell of sweating horses in the stable, while a church clock close by rang out the hour of midnight—eleven strokes! But it was a different chime from the one that had struck the first stroke he had heard. It sounded deeper.
    The following morning Caspar, the young groom, shook him gently to wake him, and, after feeding him, took him at once to the Archduke’s Groom-to-the-Chamber.
    â€œWell, Cambyses, where have you been again?” Caspar enquired, laughing good-naturedly as he led him along. “Where have you been, Cambyses?” he repeated again and again. They crossed the courtyard of a Palace, ascended a flight of stately marble steps, and entered a dark paneled hall full of servants busy making all manner of preparations, while the Groom-of-the-Chamber stood by issuing his orders to them and picking his teeth.
    â€œMaster Pointner,” cried Caspar from the doorway, “Cambyses has come back all right.”
    Pointner ceased giving orders and picking his teeth. He looked sullenly at the dog who had leaped into the room and at the groom who had remained standing at the door.
    â€œJust come back?” he enquired.
    â€œNo,” replied Caspar, “he was lying in the stable and had slept there all night.”
    The Archduke, wearing a loose fur cloak,