The Hound of Florence by Felix Salten Read Free Book Online Page A

child, just look on! Today you must wonder what is going to happen tomorrow, and tomorrow what is going to happen the day after . . . and so the time flies. If a man isn’t inquisi­tive, there’s no interest left in life.”
    And he sang softly to himself.
    It began to get dark; one or two lights twinkled at them from the windows of the houses in the distance. He stood up and walked forward in the direction of the town.
    Lucas was left alone.
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    From that day on Lucas bore his fate with ever-­increasing fortitude. He began casting his thoughts ahead into the future; he sent them forward, across hill and dale, into the country he was approaching.
    And he felt himself drawing ever closer to that country. All the roads now ran downhill; they presented no difficulties and were pleasant to walk along. A ­gentle zephyr filled the air with the breath of good tidings. Green meadows stretched out for miles around, fruit trees in blossom adorned the gentle slopes of the hills, while the box and laurel with their festoons of drooping wistaria stood out dark green about the white garden walls. A fragrance, strong yet subtle, such as he had never known before, seemed to exhale from the very earth itself, or to be wafted down from heaven on the passing breeze. Even the sky seemed to be further above his head, a sheet of unbroken azure. All the heavy low-hanging clouds had almost imperceptibly vanished, while every day the sun grew brighter.
    Lucas saw lizards, green as emeralds, glide swiftly away on the gleaming garden walls. They flashed across his path and burrowed into the white dust like colored darts of light. And a childhood memory that had long lain dormant suddenly leaped to life. Yes, he had seen these beautiful, nimble little creatures before, long, long ago. Gorgeous and gleaming they had darted past him then, too fast for him to catch. The whole picture came back to him; the white walls and the warm white dust of the roads, almost blinding in the sunlight. He felt certain that, as a child, he must have come this way. And lo and behold! he was returning, while above him stretched the blue canopy of the sky after which his heart had yearned so long.
    He did not avoid his fellow-men now. In the little villages and towns which nestled in the bosom of the valleys, he would sit by the fountains, stroking the smooth white marble, basking in the sun, talking to the people. They spoke his father’s language, and he felt that he knew every one of them. Often he would stop at some threshold, wanting nothing, anxious only to give the women and children a friendly greeting. If they looked mistrustfully at him, he would laugh or chaff them, and would get in return a laugh or a greeting which was more precious to him than gold. He strolled through the vineyards and lay on the edge of flower-strewn meadows, listening to the ceaseless buzzing of the bees.
    Early one morning, when men and houses were still sunk in slumber, he was strolling along a wide open road through a village, when he caught sight of a girl walking some distance ahead of him. He could not help following because there was no other road through the village, and he was obliged to look at her as she was the only creature in the place who was up and about. She looked attractive; her gait was light and easy. She had caught the sound of his footsteps, but had cast only one swift glance back at him, and continued on her way. It was only when they were out on the main road at the end of the village that she stopped and began fumbling with a little bundle she was carrying.
    Apparently she had done what she wanted by the time Lucas caught up with her. They smiled at each other, and continued on their way together in silence. Lucas was happy in her company. He did not notice that the girl’s clothes were in rags, nor that her disheveled hair fell in a tangle about her brow and cheeks; all he knew was that her fresh little face,