“The marchesa’s niece, Enrica Guinigi.”

“What!” roared out the cavaliere, striking his stick so violently on the ground that the sound echoed through the solitary street.  “Enrica Guinigi, whom I see every day!  What a lie!—­what a base lie!  How dare Malatesta—­the beast—­say so?  I will chastise him myself!—­with my own hand, old as I am, I will chastise him!  Enrica Guinigi!”

Baldassare shrugged his shoulders and made a grimace.  This incensed the cavaliere more violently.

“Now, listen to me, Baldassare Lena,” shouted the cavaliere, advancing, and putting his fist almost into his face.  “Your father is a chemist; and keeps a shop.  He is not a doctor, though you call him so.  If ever you presume again to repeat scandals such as this—­scandals, I say, involving the reputation of noble ladies, my friends—­ladies into whose houses I have introduced you, there shall be no more question of your being of their ‘set.’  I will take care that you never enter one of their doors again.  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.  He was quite unmoved by his threats.  Not a day passed that Trenta did not threaten him with his eternal displeasure.  Adonis was used to it, and bore it patiently.  He bore it because he could not help it.  Although by no means overburdened with brains, he was conscious that as yet he was not sufficiently established in society to stand alone.  Still, he had too high an opinion of his personal beauty, fine clothes, and general merits, to believe that the ladies of Lucca would permit of his banishment by any arbitrary decree of the cavaliere.

“You had better find out the truth, cavaliere,” he muttered, keeping well out of the range of Trenta’s stick, “before you put yourself in such a passion.”

“Domine Dio! that they should dare to utter such abominations!” ejaculated the cavaliere.  “Why, Enrica lives the life of a nun!  I doubt if she has ever seen Nobili—­certainly she has never spoken to him.  Let Malatesta, and the young scoundrels at the club, attack the married women.  They can defend themselves.  But, to calumniate an innocent girl!—­it is horrible!—­it is unmanly!  His highness the Duke of Lucca would have banished the wretch forthwith.  Ah!  Italy is going to the devil!—­Now, Baldassare,” he continued, turning round and glaring upon Adonis, who still retreated cautiously before him, “I have a great mind to send you home.  We are about to meet the young lady herself.  You are not worthy to be in her company.”

“I only repeated what Malatesta told me,” urged Baldassare, plaintively, looking very blank.  “I am not answerable for him.  Go and quarrel with Malatesta, if you like, but leave me alone.  You asked me a question, and I answered you.  That is all.”