‘Signor Massigher,’ replied the butler.

Martora was delighted: ‘Oh, your charming friend! We had such a wonderful discussion the other day … there’s a young man who knows what he wants.’

‘He may be as intelligent as you like, my dear Martora,’ said Signora Gron, ‘but I find that quite the least affecting of all qualities. These people who do nothing but argue … I don’t say Massigher isn’t a fine boy … You, Giorgina,’ she added quietly, ‘when you’ve said hello, be a good girl and go to bed. It’s getting late, you know.’

‘If you liked Massigher better,’ retorted her daughter boldly, though trying to speak jokingly, ‘if you liked him better I bet it wouldn’t be late just yet.’

‘That’s enough nonsense, Giorgina … Oh, good evening, Massigher. We hardly expected to see you tonight … you’re usually earlier than this …’

The young man, his hair ruffled, stopped short on the threshold and looked at the family in horror. ‘But – don’t you know?’ He moved forward, slightly embarrassed.

‘Good evening, Signora Maria,’ he went on, ignoring the reproach. ‘Good evening, Signor Gron, Giorgina, Fedri, excuse me, doctor, I didn’t notice you there in the shadow …’

He was plainly very nervous, pacing around from one person to the next as if bursting with some important news.

‘Have you heard?’ he began at last, since the others gave him no encouragement. ‘Have you heard that the riverbank –’

‘Quite,’ interrupted Signora Gron with masterly calm. ‘Terrible weather, isn’t it?’ And she smiled, half-closing her eyes, trying to transmit some kind of understanding to her guest. (Almost impossible, she thought to herself while doing so: a sense of occasion really isn’t his strong point.) But the father had already risen from his chair. ‘Tell me, what have you heard? Something new?’

‘What do you mean, new?’ interrupted his wife quickly. ‘I really don’t understand, my dear, you’re so nervous this evening …’

Massigher was puzzled. ‘Quite,’ he admitted, casting around for a way out, ‘nothing new that I know of. Except that from the bridge you can see –’

‘Well, naturally, the river in flood!’ interrupted Signora Gron, helping him out. ‘Most impressive, I should think. You remember the Niagara, Stefano? So many years ago …’ At this point Massigher moved closer to the Signora and whispered, choosing a moment when Giorgina and Fedri were speaking to one another: ‘But Signora, Signora,’ his eyes sparkled, ‘the river is right below the house, it’s most unwise to stay, can’t you hear the –’

‘Do you remember, Stefano?’ she went on, as though she hadn’t heard him, ‘do you remember how frightened the two Dutchmen were? They wouldn’t go anywhere near it, they said it was an absurd risk, that one might get carried away …’

‘Well,’ retorted her husband, ‘it has sometimes happened, apparently, people leaning too far over, getting dizzy perhaps …’

He seemed to have recovered his calm, put on his glasses and sat down by the hearth again, stretching out his hands towards the fire to warm them.