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At the Museum of Modern Art’s annual spring benefit last June, Helen Mirren could be spotted near one of the artists being honored that night, Brice Marden. A few feet away was Marilyn Minter, squiring another honoree, Mark Bradford.

Yet the longest line of acolytes and well-wishers formed not in the vicinity of these cultural heavyweights — plus the Swedish pop-star Robyn — but led, instead, to a 100-year-old man perched by the stage: David Rockefeller.

One by one they went up to say hello, to pay tribute, to chat.

Because of various physical ailments, he was in a wheelchair. Yet friends noted that he remained as curious and social as ever.

In February of this year, on vacation in the Bahamas with the philanthropist Patty Cisneros and the MoMA director Glenn Lowry, Mr. Rockefeller “talked about wanting to go to Paris in the fall, wanting to see common friends,” Mr. Lowry recalled, adding, “He was still projecting forward.”

In March, back in New York at the home of his friend Peter G. Peterson, an investment banker and onetime commerce secretary, he was planning another trip.

So when Mr. Rockefeller died in his sleep on Monday, the tributes that followed rightly recalled his giant presence in the business, cultural and social life of New York. But few commented on what was one of the most significant — and ultimately wrenching — roles Mr. Rockefeller played in his later years: the frequent companion and protector of the equally fabled Brooke Astor.

His championing of Mrs. Astor, the “aristocrat of the people” who died in 2007 at age 105, occurred during a time when charges were swirling that her son was abusing her and stealing from her, accusations that were aired in a trial that gripped high society and the city’s tabloid readership.

The friendship between Mrs. Astor and Mr. Rockefeller was one of New York’s great mergers.

She was saucy and tart, a society doyenne who served as the unofficial queen of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the New York Public Library, the Animal Medical Center and New York Hospital.

He was earnest and mild, the former chairman of the Council on Foreign Relations, a grand donor to the Museum of Modern Art and a man who had not one, not two, but three homes in proximity to hers: in Manhattan, on the Upper East Side; in Westchester County, N.Y.; and in Maine.

They were introduced amid the East Coast social whirl.

“I think the first time I met her was in 1958, on a boat off Providence, R.I.,” Mr. Rockefeller told the journalist Meryl Gordon, for her 2008 book “Mrs. Astor Regrets.”

Admittedly, Mrs. Astor looked more glamorous than he in her pearl necklaces and Oscar de la Renta suits, but both had a deep awareness of the mores of their social class.

He was fond of saying things like “the two most expensive things a Rockefeller can do are run for public office and get divorced; Nelson did both” — referring to his brother.

She was fond of quoting Anthony Trollope, the 19th-century Victorian author whose 1875 novel “The Way We Live Now” contains the following remonstrance: “Love is like any other luxury. You have no right to it unless you can afford it.”

Mrs. Astor’s third husband was Vincent Astor, the son of John Jacob Astor IV, who died in the Titanic disaster after supposedly quipping, “I asked for ice, but this is ridiculous.” Following Vincent’s death, in 1959, which left her with a great fortune and the Vincent Astor Foundation to watch over, the member of the Rockefeller clan she saw most frequently was David’s older brother Laurance. The two grew so close that people talked, as they will.

She was also friendly with David Rockefeller in those years. In 1985, he donated $2.5 million in her honor to the New York Public Library, which Vartan Gregorian, president of the library, said at the time was one of the largest gifts ever given to the institution.

“I have never done anything like this before,” Mr. Rockefeller said at the ceremony. “Through this gift, I wish to honor Brooke Astor as a very special friend and a wonderful individual. Brooke has set an extraordinary example in terms of the enrichment of New York’s most exciting and important resource — the minds of its people of all ages.”

There he was, alongside Jacqueline Onassis, Henry Kissinger and 1,500 of Mrs. Astor’s other friends and acquaintances, cheering as confetti was shot out from a cannon at her 90th birthday party, held in 1992 at the Park Avenue Armory.

There he was again, at the Carlyle for her 95th, with just as glittery a guest list.

But in 1996, his brother Laurance had grown frail, and David found himself a widower, with Peggy, his wife of 56 years, having died at age 80.

Soon, Mrs. Astor and the youngest Rockefeller brother were often side by side, attending charity galas and taking carriage rides together near her estate, Holly Hill, in Briarcliff Manor, N.Y. By all accounts, the widow and widower never took things beyond that, although this might have had more to do with his hesitation than hers.

“When David’s wife died, I actually think Brooke believed she had a chance to marry him, because she never stopped looking,” Liz Smith, a columnist and friend of both for many years, said in a telephone interview. “There were not a lot of rich, powerful men around, and he was the ultimate catch. But David wasn’t about to marry her or anybody else.”

So he became her close friend and adviser. When Mrs. Astor grew too frail to step into the carriage, Mr. Rockefeller bought her a two-step lift. This, he told Ms. Gordon, “made it easier for her,” an “elderly lady with a tight skirt.”

“Maybe it was a generational thing but they were brought up with a Protestant Calvinist inclination to help others,” said Louise Grunwald, the society doyenne who served with Mrs. Astor on the board of the New York Public Library and knew Mr. Rockefeller socially. “They were fortunate, and there was a sense of duty that came with that. Today it’s ego, ego, ego.”

(While Mrs. Astor was known for her generosity as a philanthropist, it should be noted that she employed a publicist, George Trescher, who was sure to let reporters know about her good works.)

Mr. Rockefeller seemed always to be there for his fellow philanthropist, cheering her on from the sidelines and sometimes lending her more than just moral support. They were, to quote the society writer and novelist Billy Norwich, “twin pillars of society,” personifying as well what it meant to be “an elegant survivor.”

And when Mrs. Astor’s centennial approached, it was Mr. Rockefeller who offered to open Kykuit — his family’s 249-acre, 40-room Sleepy Hollow estate — to 100 guests.

By this point, it was clear that if Mrs. Astor harbored feelings for Mr. Rockefeller, she at least was no longer putting all her eggs in his basket. Asked over tea for help with the 100-person guest list for the party celebrating her hundredth year, Mrs. Astor reportedly smiled and said, “Ninety-nine men would be nice.”

But that wasn’t what she got.

In addition to Ms. Smith and Mrs. Astor’s beloved friend Annette de la Renta, one woman in attendance was Charlene Marshall, the wife of Anthony Marshall, Mrs. Astor’s only child, with her first husband, Dryden Kuser.

After a dinner of trout mousse, followed by poussin and asparagus with hazelnuts, Mr. Marshall stood up to give a toast to his mother, announcing that Prince Charles hadn’t been able to make it but had sent flowers. Presenting the bouquet to his mother was Ms. Marshall. Mrs. Astor didn’t like this one bit. Having never really been a fan of the union between Ms. Marshall and her son, she determined that Charlene was muscling in on her turf. Whether there was an altercation or merely a nasty look from Mrs. Astor to people at her table remains a matter of some dispute, according to Ms. Gordon.

“After that,” Ms. Gordon said in an interview, “her situation deteriorated.”

In the ensuing months, she grew isolated, particularly after her son stepped in and moved her out of her beloved Holly Hill, which served as her usual summertime quarters. He also fired her longtime butler, an alumnus of Buckingham Palace, and replaced her assistant with a friend of his wife.

Soon, Mrs. Astor’s grandson Philip intervened, linking up with Mrs. de la Renta and Mr. Rockefeller in what went on to become arguably the most sensational, high-profile case of alleged elder abuse ever to make the tabloids.

With Mr. Rockefeller and Mrs. de la Renta behind him, Philip filed a civil suit against his own father, Mr. Marshall, aided in part by an affidavit filed by Mr. Rockefeller. Mr. Rockefeller was also instrumental in arranging for his friend to move back into Holly Hill.

In 2006, a judge granted temporary guardianship of Mrs. Astor to Mrs. de la Renta. Mrs. Astor returned to the Westchester estate she had always loved and was able to spend her last days tending to her dogs, watching Fred Astaire movies and enjoying visits from guests like Mr. Rockefeller.

Following Mrs. Astor’s death at Holly Hill in 2007, Mr. Marshall was indicted and found guilty on criminal charges of having swindled millions from his mother after she was stricken with Alzheimer’s. The ruling was upheld on appeal, and Mr. Marshall died in 2014, though he was ultimately cleared on charges of having abused his mother.

Mr. Rockefeller — who would happily never have seen his name in the papers aside from at birth, marriage or death — would surely have preferred the whole episode not to have taken place, but it was also not his way to lament what was done.

His side won, and he spent his final days surrounded by Picassos, Matisses and Calders, collecting Chinese antiquities and admiring the MoMA headquarters that had been built on the very block where he had grown up (with his money, no less).

Mr. Rockefeller also took great joy amassing what some of his friends said was the world’s largest beetle collection, which was meticulously maintained at Kykuit, where the beetles, embalmed in glass cases, were taken out and shown off to newer and younger friends, who oohed and ahhed (and occasionally squirmed) as introductions were made.

“He just carried on,” Mr. Lowry said, speaking generally about Mr. Rockefeller’s roaring nineties, a time that was barely interrupted by medical issues. “He didn’t concede a thing.”