"The festival of the Holy Countenance and the cotillon!" cried the marchesa, with great indignation. "Tell me nothing about the Orsetti ball. I won't listen to it. Good Heavens!" she continued, reddening, "I am thirty years younger than you are, but I left off dancing fifteen years ago. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Cesarino!"
Cesarino only smiled at her benignantly in reply. She had called him a fool so often! He seated himself beside her without speaking. He had come prepared to entertain her with an account of every detail of the ball; but seeing the temper she was in, he deemed it more prudent to be silent—to be silent specially about Count Nobili. The mention of his name would, he knew, put her in a fury, so, being a prudent man, and a courtier, he entirely dropped the subject of the ball. Yet Trenta was a privileged person. He never voluntarily contradicted the marchesa, but when occasion arose he always spoke his mind, fearless of consequences. As he and the marchesa disagreed on almost every possible subject, disputes often arose between them; but, thanks to Trenta's pliant temper and perfect good-breeding, they were always amicably settled.
"Count Marescotti and Baldassare are outside," continued Trenta, looking at her inquiringly, as the marchesa had not spoken. "They are waiting to know if the illustrious lady receives this evening, and if she will permit them to join her usual whist-party."
"Marescotti!—where may he come from?—the clouds, perhaps—or the last balloon?" asked the marchesa, looking up.
"From Rome; he arrived two days ago. He is no longer so erratic. Will you allow him to join us?"
"I shall certainly play my rubber if I am permitted," answered the marchesa, drawing herself up.
This was intended as a sarcastic reminder of the disregard shown to her by the cavaliere the evening before; but the sarcasm was quite thrown away upon Trenta; he was very simple and straightforward.
"The marchesa has only to command me," was his polite reply. "I wonder Marescotti and Baldassare are not here already," he added, looking toward the door. "I left them both in the street; they were to follow me up-stairs immediately."
"Ah!" said the marchesa, smiling sarcastically, "Count Marescotti is not to be trusted. He is a genius—he may be back on his way to Rome by this time."
"No, no," answered Trenta, rising and walking toward the door, which he opened and held in his hand, while he kept his eyes fixed on the staircase; "Marescotti is disgusted with Rome—with the Parliament, with the Government—with every thing. He abuses the municipality because a secret republican committee which he headed, in correspondence with Paris, has been discovered by the police and denounced. He had to escape in disguise."