midday
Twilight held the place ; but as he stood there the frescoes started out in the slant of the sunrise like dead faces floating to the surface of a river . Dead faces , yes : plaintive spectres of his childish fears and longings , lost in the harsh daylight of experience . He had forgotten the very dreams they stood for : Lethe flowed between and only one voice reached across the torrent . It was that of Saint Francis , lover of the poor ... The morning was hot as Odo drove toward Pianura , and limping ahead of him in the midday glare he presently saw the figure of a hump-backed man in a decent black dress and three-cornered hat . There was something familiar in the man 's gait , and in the shape of his large head , poised on narrow stooping shoulders , and as the carriage drew abreast of him , Odo , leaning from the window , cried out , `` Brutus -- this must be Brutus ! '' `` Your excellency has the advantage of me , '' said the hunchback , turning on him a thin face lit by the keen eyes that had once searched his childish soul . Odo met the rebuff with a smile .