A hot flush overspread the count's face for an instant, then it faded out, and grew pale and rigid. He remembered the cavaliere's great age, and checked himself. To avoid him, the count retreated to the farthest limit of the room, hastily seized a chair, and barricaded himself behind it. "I will not fight you, Cavaliere Trenta," he answered, speaking with calmness.
"Ah, coward!" screamed Trenta, "would you dishonor me?"
"Cavaliere Trenta, this is folly," said the count, crossing his arms on his breast. "Strike me if you please," he added, seeing that Trenta still threatened him. "Strike me; I shall not return it. On my honor as a gentleman, what I have said is true. Had you, cavaliere, been a younger man, you must have heard it in the city, at the club, the theatre; it is known everywhere."
"What is known?" asked Trenta, hoarsely, standing suddenly motionless, the flush of rage dying out of his countenance, and a look of helpless suffering taking its place.
"That Count Nobili loves Enrica Guinigi," answered Marescotti, abruptly.
Like a shot Baldassare's words rose to Trenta's remembrance. The poor old chamberlain turned very white. He quivered like a leaf, and clung to the table for support.
"Pardon me, oh! pardon me a thousand times, if I have pained you," exclaimed the count; he left the place where he was standing, threw his arms round Trenta, and placed him with careful tenderness on a seat. His generous heart upbraided him bitterly for having allowed himself for an instant to be heated by the cavaliere's reproaches. "How could I possibly imagine you did not know all this?" he asked, in the gentlest voice.
Trenta groaned.
"Take me home, take me home," he murmured, faintly. "Gran Dio! the marchesa! the marchesa!" He clasped his hands, then let them fall upon his knees.
"But what real obstacle can there be to a marriage with Count Nobili?"