Free The Hound of Florence by Felix Salten

paths, unable to buy so much as a crust of bread. He had eaten his fill only when the dog Cambyses had been fed, and had found somewhere to lay his head only when Cambyses was allowed to occupy a place in the straw. But now his fingers clutched the key to a little manly freedom. The anxiety that had so long oppressed him with regard to what he would do to earn a livelihood when he reached Florence, fell like a load from his heart.
    Full of joy, he now took up his stand before the Palace, watching the constant animation and bustle at its gates. And every other day he became part of that bustle. He was a member of the throng within its gates, familiar with every corner of the stables, the stairs, the corridors, rooms, apartments and halls of the building. The day following he would stand outside it, apparently completely isolated, invisible and free. Hitherto, on his human days, filled with qualms that made him tremble, and a sense of shame that depressed him strangely, he had always avoided the proximity of the Archduke’s train. On this particular day, however, he took up his stand before the Palace gates, overcoming both his qualms and his sense of shame, which constantly threatened to get the upper hand, and watched the familiar figures of the grooms, Count Waltersburg, fat Master Pointner and the others. All unsuspecting, they passed close by him. He knew all about them, every line in their faces, every movement of their shoulders, every detail of their ways was known to him, their voices, their desires, and the kindness and hardness of their hearts. But, suspecting nothing, they scarcely vouchsafed him a glance; had they gazed into his eyes for hours, still they would have suspected nothing. They knew only Cambyses, the dog; of Lucas, the man, they knew nothing.
    The one person with whom he did not come face to face on these days was the Archduke himself, catching only a fleeting glimpse of him one morning in his coach, as he had done in Vienna on that first dismal November day. As he leaned back in the cushions the Archduke’s thin face wore a haughty, disdainful expression and his blue eyes swept the rows of spectators with an expression of contemptuous indifference. But Lucas was anxious to see him at close quarters, as he had seen Count Waltersburg and Pointner, the Groom-of-the-Chamber. Without quite knowing why, he felt impeled to do this. An irresistible impulse, prompted neither by affection nor hostility, urged him to meet the Archduke face to face if he possibly could.
    And he succeeded. One quiet afternoon he chanced to enter the church of San Petronio, and was wandering, a lonely figure, from altar to altar, and statue to statue, when suddenly the Archduke, accompanied by the Cardinal and a magnificent retinue of courtiers, entered the silent precincts. They were all talking loudly and the lofty vaulted arches echoed their voices. Lucas crept behind a column.
    â€œIt was here that your Grace’s great ancestor, Charles V, was crowned,” Lucas heard the Cardinal say as the group came to a standstill close beside him.
    The Archduke took a short step forward, and was about to reply when he found himself face to face with Lucas. He drew back, turned his head in confusion, coughed, tried to pull himself together; but Lucas gazed at him with a calm, curious, almost imploring look. Everything he had thought and experienced during the last few weeks unconsciously shone out of his eyes, as he stood for the first time erect in human form before his master; and for a few seconds he held the Archduke’s eyes beneath the spell of his own, allowing him no escape.
    Embarrassed and indignant at his own discomfiture, the Archduke raised his hand.
    â€œWhat does that ragged lout over there want?” he whispered, turning to the Cardinal.
    At a sign from the latter, two gentlemen went up to Lucas, motioning him to go and threatening and upbraiding him.
    â€œGet out!” they hissed. “Be off at