“Do you think anyone’s there?” This was Marian again. “Couldn’t it just keep spreading? I’m not thinking about us. I only mean—might it?”

“I’ve asked Alessandro to telephone our fattore—the man who manages the land for the owner. He may have heard something.”

This made it possible to get to the cheese. Which was also from the estate.

“They’ve seen too much, and that’s what it comes back to. Been through too much. Too bloody fatalistic altogether. I’ve written about this. And will write more.”

“They have seen the righteous forsaken,” said Miss Helena Palmer.

“That doesn’t authorize them to forsake everyone in sight. They won’t even lift a finger to help themselves.”

“Look here, though, Jimmy, isn’t that exactly what we enjoy? After all, we can’t have the lot”—Robin moved his elbow to say, The wine, the oil, the oleanders, and the sketch by Sangallo—“and then denounce the temperament that produces it.”

“A package deal, eh?” Janet smiled.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” Jimmy said—thinking this an unfortunate phrase always, but repeating it just the same. “Don’t misunderstand me. Listen, I’m mad about the Italian temperament. I adore the Italian temperament. All I’m saying is, the Italian temperament—mentality, if you like—is like a big rich cake, with a slice missing. And that slice is the sense of responsibility. Well, what about it, Alessandro?”

The servant came to the table speaking quietly, and began to remove the plates.

“So there you are, the fattore knows nothing. He thinks maybe the hunters started the fire to clear the underbrush, and then it got out of control.”

No one believed this. It would have been too perfect. Janet put her napkin on the table. “Let’s have coffee in the other room.”

“In Sicily, when it’s very dry, the fires start by themselves,” Marian said. “I saw them last summer, when I was there with Mother.”

“Spontaneous combustion.”

“You see, it’s this very chapter I’m working on right now. There’s the matter of the Catholic upbringing, too, the Catholic conscience. Ultimately God is responsible for everything. Big deal.”

“Like the fall of Constantinople. Everyone was in the churches praying when they should have been manning the ramparts.”

Miss Palmer stirred her coffee and heard examples. She listened to dates and names—Massimo d’Azeglio, Mussolini, Matteotti. She thought, If he recites enough of these facts we will in some way feel better about sitting here drinking coffee while that fire rages outside. Why? However, she was calm now, seeing that no one was going to do anything. It was the suspense that had been unnerving, the sense of choice; and the same calm was settling on the others. Only Jimmy struggled to make sense of himself. In that case, Miss Palmer wondered, is he the one who minds most, in spite of everything?