il, count, his own way. He must soon appear there, anyhow.
A good-for-nothing old cheat! His blessing, indeed! I can get you a
dozen begging friars who will bless you all day for a few farthings."

The count's brow darkened.

"Baldassare," said he, very gravely, "you are young, and, like your
age, inconsiderate. I request that, in my presence, you speak with
becoming respect of this holy man."

"Per Bacco!" exclaimed the cavaliere, advancing from where he had
been standing behind the marchesa's chair, and patting Baldassare
patronizingly on the shoulder, "I never heard you talk so much before
at one time, Baldassare. Now, you had better have held your tongue,
and listened to Count Marescotti. Leading the cotillon last night has
turned your head. Take my advice, however--an old man's advice--stick
to your dancing. You understand that. Every man has his _forte_--yours
is the ballroom."

Baldassare smiled complaisantly at this allusion to the swiftness of
his heels.

"Out of the ballroom," continued Trenta, eying him with quiet scorn,
"I advise caution--great caution. Out of the ballroom you are capable
of any imbecility."

"Cavaliere!" cried Baldassare, turning very red and looking at him
reproachfully.

"You have deserved this reproof, young man," said the marchesa,
harshly. "Learn your place in addressing the Count Marescotti."

That the son of a shopkeeper should presume to dispute in her presence
with a Roman noble, was a thing so unsuitable that, even in her own
house, she must put it down authoritatively. She had never liked
Baldassare--never wanted to receive him, now she resolved never to see
him again; but, as she feared that Trenta would continue to bring him,
under pretext of making up her whist-table, she did not say so.

The medical Adonis was forced to swallow his rage, but his cheeks
tingled. He dared not quarrel either with the marchesa, Trenta, or
the count, by whose joint support alone he could hope to plant himself
firmly in the realms of Lucchese fashionable life--a life which he
felt was his element. Utterly disconcerted, however, he turned down
his eyes, and stared at his boots, which were highly glazed, then
glanced up at his own face (as faultless and impassive as a Greek
mask) in a mirror opposite, hastily arranged his hair, and finally
collapsed into silence and a corner.

At this moment Count Marescotti became suddenly aware of Enrica's
presence. She was, as I have said, sitting in