Now for the second time they heard the disturbing muffled roar. It seemed to come from deep in the earth below them, from the farthest recesses of the cellars. Despite herself, Signora Gron stopped to listen.

‘Did you hear that, Giorgina?’ exclaimed her father, puckering his forehead. ‘Did you?’

‘Yes, I did. I can’t imagine what it is,’ she replied, the colour gone from her face.

‘Thunder, of course!’ retorted her mother in a tone that admitted of no argument. ‘Just thunder … what do you think it is? … not ghosts, by any chance?’

‘Thunder doesn’t sound like that, Maria,’ remarked her husband, shaking his head. ‘It seemed to come from right beneath us.’

‘You know quite well how it is, my dear: every time there’s a storm it feels as if the house is going to collapse,’ insisted his wife. ‘Then you hear the strangest noises in this house. All you heard was thunder, wasn’t it, Massigher?’ she concluded, certain that he, a guest, would not dare to contradict her.

He smiled with polite resignation and answered evasively: ‘You mentioned ghosts, Signora … this evening, as I was crossing the garden, I had the curious sensation of being followed … I heard footsteps, as if … quite definite footsteps on the gravel in the main avenue …’

‘And rattling bones, and groans as well, of course?’ suggested Signora Gron.

‘No, just footsteps, probably my own,’ he replied, ‘you sometimes get strange echoes.’

‘Quite right, my dear boy … or mice, that’s far more likely, isn’t it? It’s certainly not a good idea to be as imaginative as you are, or goodness knows what one might hear …’

‘Signora,’ he began again in a low voice, ‘surely you can hear it? The river is right below us, can’t you hear?’

‘No, I hear nothing,’ she said curtly, replying in an equally low voice. Then, louder: ‘You’re not at all amusing with these anecdotes, you know.’

The boy could think of nothing to reply. He tried to laugh, amazed at the woman’s obstinacy. So you don’t want to believe it, Signora Gron? he thought bitterly. (Even in his thoughts he addressed her just as in real life, using the polite form.) Unpleasant things don’t concern you, do they? You think it’s uncouth to talk about them. Your precious world has always withdrawn from them, hasn’t it? Well, let’s see where your ivory tower viewpoint gets you in the end.

‘Just listen to this, Stefano,’ she went on with sudden eagerness, addressing him across the whole room. ‘Massigher claims to have seen ghosts out in the park and he’s not joking … these young people certainly set a fine example.’

‘Signor Gron, don’t believe a word of it,’ and he laughed effortfully. ‘I didn’t say that at all, I …’

He broke off to listen. In the ensuing silence, above the sound of the rain, he thought he heard another sound swelling, threatening and ominous. He was standing in an arc of light from a slightly blue-tinted lamp, his lips parted a little; not frightened, but throbbing with life, strangely unlike the people and objects surrounding him. Giorgina watched him with a feeling of desire.