He dreaded a long tirade from the old chamberlain on the subject of his court reminiscences; besides, Baldassare was bursting with a startling piece of intelligence as yet evidently unknown to Trenta.

“News!—­no,” answered the cavaliere, contemptuously.  “I dare say it is some lie.  You have, I am sorry to say, Baldassare, all the faults of a person new to society; you believe every thing.”

Baldassare eyed the cavaliere defiantly; but he pulled at his curled mustache in silence.

The cavaliere stopped short, raised his head, and scanned him attentively.

“Out with it, my boy, out with it, or it will choke you!  I see you are dying to tell me!”

“Not at all, cavaliere,” replied Baldassare, with assumed indifference; “only I must say that I believe you are the only person in Lucca who has not heard it.”

“Heard what?” demanded Trenta, angrily.

Baldassare knew the cavaliere’s weak point; he delighted to tease him.  Trenta considered himself, and was generally considered by others, as a universal news-monger; it was a habit that had remained to him from his former life at court.  From the time of Polonius downward a court-chamberlain has always been a news-monger.

“Heard?  Why, the news—­the great news,” Baldassare spoke in the same jeering tone.  He drew himself up, affecting to look over the cavaliere’s head as he bent on his stick before him.

“Go on,” retorted the cavaliere, doggedly.

“How strange you have not heard any thing!” Trenta now looked so enraged, Baldassare thought it was time to leave off bantering him.  “Well, then, cavaliere, since you really appear to be ignorant, I will tell you.  After you left the Orsetti ball, Malatesta asked me and the other young men of their set to supper at the Universo Hotel.”

“Mercy on us!” ejaculated the cavaliere, who was now thoroughly irritated, “you consider yourself one of their set, do you?  I congratulate you, young man.  This is news to me.”

“Certainly, cavaliere, if you ask me, I do consider myself one of their set.”

The cavaliere shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

“We talked of the accident,” continued Baldassare, affecting not to notice his sneers, “and we talked of Nobili.  Many said, as you do, that Nobili is in love with Nera Boccarini, and that he would certainly marry her.  Malatesta laughed, as is his way, then he swore a little.  Nobili would do no such thing, he declared, he would answer for it.  He had it on the best authority, he said, that of an eye-witness.” (Ah, cruel old Carlotta, you have made good your threat of vengeance!) “An eye-witness had said that Nobili was in love with some one else—­some one who wrote to him; that they had been watched—­that he met some one secretly, and that by-and-by all the city would know it, and that there would be a great scandal.”

“And who may the lady be?” asked the cavaliere carelessly, raising his head as he put the question, with a sardonic glance at Baldassare.  “Not that I believe one word Malatesta says.  He is a young coxcomb, and you, Baldassare, are a parrot, and repeat what you hear.  Per Bacco! if there had been any thing serious, I should have known it long ago.  Who is the lady?” Spite of himself, however, his blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.