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By the body of my holy ancestor, San Riccardo, I will disgrace you publicly disgrace you!" Trenta's rosy face had grown purple, his lips worked convulsively. He raised his stick, and flourished it in the air, as if about to make it descend like a truncheon on Baldassare's shoulders. Adonis drew back a step or two, following with his eyes the cavaliere's movements.
And Baldassare passed his hand carefully down his side. "The next time I go to sleep in your company, I'll trouble you to keep your fingers to yourself. You have rapped me like a drum." Trenta watched the various phases of Baldassare's wrath with the greatest amusement. The descent having been safely accomplished, the whole party landed in the street.
Baldassare's own were black as old channel-posts in the Lagoon, but in tongue-work he gave as sharp as he got. Then a wicked wind blew Vanna's hair like a whip across her throat, fit to strangle her. She had to face the day. Baldassare pondered her straight young back. "When Vanna's a nun she'll have no more trouble with her hair," quoth La Testolina, matchmaker by race.
Now he moved forward, and as he did so he took Baldassare's arm, in token of forgiveness. "No names must be mentioned," he continued, tripping along "mind, no names; but I authorize you, on my authority, if you hear this abominable nonsense repeated I authorize you to say that you have it from me that Enrica Guinigi is to be married, and not to Nobili. He! he!
"Every man has his forte," observed the count, good-naturedly, seeing Baldassare's embarrassment at having his ignorance exposed. "Taught by me, taught by me," muttered the cavaliere; "he owes it all to me." Leaving the count and Baldassare standing together in the street, the cavaliere knocked at the door of the Guinigi Palace. When it was opened he entered the gloomy court.
"What is known?" asked Trenta, hoarsely, standing suddenly motionless, the flush of rage dying out of his countenance, and a look of helpless suffering taking its place. "That Count Nobili loves Enrica Guinigi," answered Marescotti, abruptly. Like a shot Baldassare's words rose to Trenta's remembrance. The poor old chamberlain turned very white.
On the morning of Baldassare's setting-out for the Mantuan road, La Testolina at that time much and unhealthily in Fra Battista's hire came breathless to the Via Stella. That baby was a glutton. "Hist, Vanna, hist!" La Testolina whispered; and Vanna looked up at her with a guarded smile, as who should say, "Speak softer, my dear, lest Cola should strangle in his swallow."
The affair was thus concluded; before the thirty days were up Vanna was taken to church by her father, and taken from it by her new master. Within a week she appeared at the doorway of Baldassare's little shop, very pretty, very sedate, quite the housewife to sit there sewing and singing to herself from grey dawn to grey dusk. A year passed, two years passed.
Even La Testolina was shy of her. But, bless you, she saw nothing of it or cared nothing. This could not be endured: a thousand tongues were ready to shoot at her, and would have shot but for fear of old Baldassare's grim member reputed forked. While he was in the way, fat-headed fool, there was no moral glow to be won by a timely word.
This is the moment for the three women to use their eyes and their tongues very softly indeed for they were now elbowed by some of the best people in Lucca but to use them. "There's Baldassare, the chemist's son," whispers Brigitta, who was using her one eye diligently. "Mercy! That new coat was never cut in Lucca. They need sell many drugs at papa-chemist's to pay for Baldassare's clothes.
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