"How much money did you leave in them, count?" asked the marchesa,
with a sneer.

"Great is the mercy of God!" ejaculated the count, earnestly,
not heeding her. "Sinner as I am, the touch of those hands--that
blessing--purified me. I feel it."

"Incredible! Well," cried Baldassare, "the price of that blessing will
keep the good man in bread and meat for a year. Let the old beggar go
to the devil, count, his own way. He must soon appear there, anyhow.
A good-for-nothing old cheat! His blessing, indeed! I can get you a
dozen begging friars who will bless you all day for a few farthings."

The count's brow darkened.

"Baldassare," said he, very gravely, "you are young, and, like your
age, inconsiderate. I request that, in my presence, you speak with
becoming respect of this holy man."

"Per Bacco!" exclaimed the cavaliere, advancing from where he had
been standing behind the marchesa's chair, and patting Baldassare
patronizingly on the shoulder, "I never heard you talk so much before
at one time, Baldassare. Now, you had better have held your tongue,
and listened to Count Marescotti. Leading the cotillon last night has
turned your head. Take my advice, however--an old man's advice--stick
to your dancing. You understand that. Every man has his _forte_--yours
is the ballroom."

Baldassare smiled complaisantly at this allusion to the swiftness of