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Updated: June 17, 2025
That will surprise them those chattering young blackguards at the club." Thus, once more on the most amiable terms, the cavaliere and Baldassare proceeded leisurely arm-in-arm toward the street of San Simone. Count Marescotti was walking rapidly up and down in the shade before the Guinigi Palace when the cavaliere and Baldassare appeared.
Trenta smiled, and mentally determined, for the second time, to take the earliest opportunity of speaking to Count Marescotti before the ridiculous reports circulating in Lucca reached him. "Per Bacco!" he replied, "when the count is as old as I am, he will have learned that quiet is the greatest luxury a man can enjoy especially in Italy, where the climate is hot and fevers frequent."
"Besides," objected the marchesa, still fencing with the real question, "who can answer for Count Marescotti? He is so capricious! Supposing he likes Enrica to-day, he may change before to-morrow. Do you really think he can care enough about Enrica to marry her? Her name would be nothing to him." "I think he does care for her," replied Trenta, reflectively; "but that can be ascertained.
"Delicious!" broke in Malatesta, brightening up all over. "Don't quarrel over a choice bone. Who is compromised the most? I'll have her name placarded. Some one must make a row." "Enrica Guinigi is the most compromised," answered Orazio, striking a match to light his cigar. "Marescotti celebrates her as the young Madonna before the archangel Gabriel visited her. Ha! ha!"
"Let pitch alone," says the proverb. Now Trenta, of a most cleanly nature, morally and physically abhorred pitch, especially such pitch as this. He had long looked upon Count Marescotti as an atheist, a visionary but he had never conceived him capable of establishing an organized system of rebellion and communism. At Lucca, too! It was horrible! By some means such an incendiary must be got rid of.
He returned, therefore, to the charge perseveringly. "You speak of a mission, Count Marescotti; what is the nature of this mission? Nothing political, I hope?" He stopped abruptly. The count's eyelids dropped over his eyes as he met Trenta's inquiring glance. Then he bowed his head in acquiescence. "Another revolution may do much for Italy," he answered, in a low tone.
"No, no," he faintly interrupted, "not there. To Casa Guinigi. I must instantly see the marchesa," whispered Trenta in the count's ear. The fiacre containing the unhappy chamberlain drove from the door, and plunged into a dark street toward the cathedral. Count Marescotti stood for some minutes in the doorway, gazing after it.
The latter quality recommended him strongly to Trenta. He was always ready to believe every word the cavaliere uttered with unquestioning faith. At the mention of a church legend Count Marescotti turned away with an expression of disgust, and leaned against a pillar, his eyes fixed on Enrica.
"That's the man for the people!" Cassandra still speaks under her breath. "He'll give us a republic yet." Following close on Count Marescotti comes Count Nobili. There are ease and conscious strength and freedom in his every movement. He pauses for a moment on the uppermost step under the central arch of the atrium and gazes round.
"Did Enrica ever speak to you of her engagement to Count Marescotti?" she asked. She grew impatient, and must probe the wound. "Never," he answered, shrinking back. "Heavens! What falseness! Why, she has passed days and days alone with him." "No, not alone," interrupted Nobili, stung with a sense of his own shame. "Oh, you excuse her!" Nera laughed bitterly. "Poor count, believe me.
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