Baldassare had dressed himself with great care; his hair was exquisitely curled for the occasion.  He had nothing to do all day, and the prospect of returning home was most depressing.

“You are not answerable for being born a fool!” was the rejoinder.  “I grant that.  Who told Malatesta?” asked the cavaliere, turning sharply toward Baldassare.

“He said he had heard it in many quarters.  He insisted on having heard it from one who had seen them together.”

(Old Carlotta, sitting in her shop-door at the corner of the street of San Simone, like an evil spider in its web, could have answered that question.)

The cavaliere was still standing on the same spot, in the centre of the street.

“Baldassare,” he said, addressing him more calmly, “this is a wicked calumny.  The marchesa must not hear it.  Upon reflection, I shall not notice it.  Malatesta is a chattering fool—­an ape!  I dare say he was tipsy when he said it.  But, as you value my protection, swear to me not to repeat one word of all this.  If you hear it mentioned, contradict it—­flatly contradict it, on my authority—­the authority of the Marchesa Guinigi’s oldest friend.  Nobili will marry Nera Boccarini, and there will be an end of it; and Enrica—­yes, Baldassare,” continued the cavaliere, with an air of immense dignity—­“yes, to prove to you how ridiculous this report is, Enrica is about to marry also.  I am at this very time authorized by the family to arrange an alliance with—­”

“I guess!” burst out Baldassare, reddening with delight at being intrusted with so choice a piece of news—­“with Count Marescotti!” Trenta gave a conscious smile, and nodded.  This was done with a certain reserve, but still graciously.  “To be sure; it was easy to see how much he admired her, but I did not know that the lady—­”

“Oh, yes, the lady is all right—­she will agree,” rejoined Trenta.  “She knows no one else; she will obey her aunt’s commands and my wishes.”

“I am delighted!” cried Baldassare.  “Why, there will be a ball at Palazzo Guinigi—­a ball, after all!”

“But the marchesa must never hear this scandal about Nobili,” added Trenta, suddenly relapsing into gravity.  “She hates him so much, it might give her a fit.  Have a care, Baldassare—­have a care, or you may yet incur my severest displeasure.”

“I am sure I don’t want the marchesa or any one else to know it,” replied Baldassare, greatly reassured as to the manner in which he would pass his day by the change in Trenta’s manner.  “I would not annoy her or injure the signorina for all the world.  I am sure you know that, cavaliere.  No word shall pass my lips, I promise you.”

“Good! good!” responded Trenta, now quite pacified (it was not in Trenta’s nature to be angry long).  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!  That will surprise them—­those chattering young blackguards at the club.”