Nobili, passing on quickly, nearly ran over Cavaliere Trenta. He was
in the act of making a profound obeisance, as he handed an ice to one
of his contemporaries.

"Ah, youth! youth!" exclaimed poor Trenta, softly, with difficulty
recovering his equilibrium by the help of his stick.--"Never mind,
Count Nobili, don't apologize; I can bear any thing from a young
man who celebrates the festival of the Holy Countenance with such
magnificence. Per Bacco! you are the best Lucchese in Lucca. I have
seen nothing like it since the duke left. My son, it was worthy of the
palace you inhabit."

Ah! could the marchesa have heard this, she would never have spoken to
Trenta again!

"You gratify me exceedingly, cavaliere," replied Nobili, really
pleased at the old man's praise. "I desire, as far as I can, to become
Lucchese at heart. Why should not the festivals of New Italy exceed
those of the old days? At least, I shall do my best that it be so."

"Eh? eh?" replied Trenta, rubbing his nose with a doubtful expression;
"difficult--very difficult. In the old days, my young friend, society
was a system. Each sovereign was the centre of a permanent court
circle. There were many sovereigns and many circles--many purses,
too, to pay the expenses of each circle. Now it is all hap-hazard; no
money, no court, no king."

"No king?" exclaimed Nobili, with surprise.