‘Dr Porru! Dr Littlefoot!’ squealed the grandson, correcting the guest. Bachisia glared at the boy and made as if to strike him. Giovanna burst out laughing. Seeing their ‘heartbroken guest’ – who until then had been surrounded by a halo of romance and tragedy – laughing, Grazia too broke into a nervous giggle. Her younger sister, Minnia, also giggled and after that the boy and the student started to laugh. Bachisia looked round in fury. What were they laughing at? She raised a thin yellow hand to slap someone. But whom? Her daughter? The boy? Then Porredda came in with the steaming macaroni.

Behind her came Efes Maria Porru, her husband, thickset and dignified, in a tight-fitting blue velvet jerkin. Though a peasant, he was said to be well-read, and his sallow face with its short curly beard and bright eyes indicated a certain intelligence.

‘Come quickly, supper’s ready,’ Porredda said, placing the dish on the table. ‘I see you’re all giggling. Is it the lawyer who’s making you laugh?’

‘I was about to slap your grandson,’ said Bachisia.

‘Why, my dear? Come and eat now. Giovanna here, Dr Littlefoot over there.’

Paolo threw himself flat backwards on the bed. Stretching out his arms, he lifted his legs in the air, dropped them again, jumped down on to his feet and yawned. Giovanna and the children again burst out laughing.

‘A little gymnastics does you good,’ Paolo said. ‘God, how I’ll sleep tonight. All my bones are dislocated. You’re so tall, Grazia. You’re like a beanpole.’

The girl blushed and lowered her eyes. Bachisia scowled, offended because the student’s mind was on something other than her story and because everyone was making light of Costantino’s calamity. Even Giovanna seemed to have forgotten, and only when Porredda put in front of her a big helping of macaroni, pink and fragrant with sauce, did the young woman’s face go dark again and she refuse to eat.

‘What did I tell you?’ exclaimed Porredda. ‘She’s out of her mind. Why don’t you eat? What does eating today have to do with the sentence tomorrow?’

‘Come on now,’ Bachisia said, somewhat crossly. ‘Don’t be foolish. Don’t spoil these good people’s happiness.’

Tying his napkin under his chin, Efes Maria spat out a literary epigram. ‘“A brave heart defies fate,” as Dante puts it. Come now, Giovanna. Show us you’re a mountain flower, and you can endure more than the stones themselves. Time heals all.’

Giovanna began to eat, but with a lump in her throat. Bent over his food, Paolo said nothing. By the time Giovanna had managed to swallow her first mouthful, his plate was already empty.

‘You’re a whirlwind, my son,’ said Porredda. ‘Hungry as a wolf. Do you want some more? There’s plenty.’

‘It looks as though you didn’t get enough to eat in the Eternal City,’ Efes commented.