was a _protégé_, almost a double, of the cavaliere, who insisted upon
taking him wherever he went. If you received the cavaliere, you must,
perforce, receive Baldassare also. No one could explain why this was
so. They were continually quarreling, yet they were always together.
Their intimacy had been the subject of many jokes and some gossip; but
the character of the cavaliere was immaculate, and Baldassare's mother
(now dead) had never lived at Lucca. Trenta, when spoken to on the
subject of his partiality, said he was "educating him" to fill his
place as master of the ceremonies in Lucchese society. Except when
specially bullied by the cavaliere--who greatly enjoyed tormenting him
in public--Baldassare was inoffensive and useful.

Now he pressed forward to the front.

"Signora Marchesa," he said, eagerly, "allow me to make my excuses to
you."

The marchesa turned a surprised and distant gaze upon him; but
Baldassare was not to be discouraged. He had that tough skin of true
vulgarity which is impervious to any thing but downright hard blows.

"Allow me to make my excuses," he continued. "The cavaliere here
has been scolding me all the way up-stairs for not bringing Count
Marescotti sooner to you. I could not."

Marescotti bowed an acquiescence.

"While we were standing in the street, waiting to know if the
noble lady received, an old beggar, known in Lucca as the Hermit of
Pizzorna, come down from the mountains for the festival, passed by."