f by abject submission to
the Holy Father."

"Yes; and what came of that?" cried the count, raising his voice,
a sudden flush of anger mounting over his face. "The Church--your
Catholic and Apostolic Church--established the Inquisition. The
Inquisition condemned to the flames the greatest prophet and teacher
since the apostles--Savonarola!"

Trenta, knowing how deeply Marescotti's feelings were engaged in
the subject of Savonarola, was too courteous to desire any further
discussion. But at the same time he was determined, if possible, to
hear no more of what was to him neither more nor less than blasphemy.

"Do you know how long we have been up here, count?" he asked, taking
out his watch. "Enrica must return. I hope you won't detain us," he
said, with a pitiful look at the count, who seemed preparing for
an oration in honor of the mediaeval martyr. "I have already got
a violent rheumatism in my shoulder.--Here, Baldassare, open the
trap-door, and let us go down.--Where is Baldassare?--Baldassare!
Where are you, imbecile? Baldassare, I say! Why, diamine! Where can
the boy be? He's not been privately practising his last new step
behind the bay-trees, and taken a false one over the parapet?"

The small space was easily searched. Baldassare was discovered
sketched at full length and fast asleep under a bench on the other
side of the bay-trees.

"Ah, wretch!" grumbled the old chamberlain, "if you sleep like this
you will outlive me, who mean to flourish for the next hundred
years. He's always asleep, except when dancing," he added indignantly
appealing to Marescotti. "Look at him. There's beauty without
expression. Doesn't he inspire you? Endymion who has overslept himself
and missed Diana--Narcissus overcome by the sight of his own beauty."

After being called, pushed, and pinched, by the cavaliere, Baldassare
at last opened his eyes in great bewilderment--stretched himself,
yawned, then, suddenly clapping his hand to his side, looked fiercely
at Trenta. Trenta was shaking with laughter.

"Mille diavoli!" cried Baldassare, rubbing himself vigorously, "how
dare you pinch me so, cavaliere? I shall be black and blue. Why should
not I sleep? Nobody spoke to me."

"I fear you have heard little of the history of Lucca," said the
count, smiling.

"Dio buono! what is history to me? I hate it!--I-tell you what,
cavaliere, you have hurt me very much." And Baldassare passed his hand
carefully down his side. "The next time