Left alone, Vanna looked out. She wasn’t sleepy. From the window she tried to imagine what the sea was doing. She always used to amuse herself guessing about the sea at night.

She sensed the gravity of the step she had taken but didn’t regret it. Yes, she’d really run away. She’d argued with her husband during the night. In the morning she had quickly filled her trunk with the few things she owned and had left. She’d sold her jewelry. In Naples she’d telegraphed her father, letting him know that she was boarding the ship. She’d done everything with a precision that now shocked her, without thinking, she who had never even looked at a train schedule, as though someone had guided her every move.

All right then, yes, she’d done a crazy thing. But she was in her house now. She could stay there. Wasn’t this her home, where she was born, where her youth had blossomed like a beautiful flower?

She was exhausted. The recent events began to blur and trail off.

She watched the lighthouse beam shining across the water. She had recognized it with such joy, as if she’d been transported back in time, as if the lighthouse in that peaceful night were welcoming her home.

Downstairs, stunned and dismayed, they were talking about Vanna, discussing what they should do. Who was going to take responsibility for sheltering such a young woman who’d run away from her husband’s house? …

• • •

“Oh, Vannicchia!” exclaimed Maria, caressing her sister-in-law’s hands. “And so? …” she asked hesitantly.