A few moments passed without any sign of life from the other rooms. Massigher plucked up his courage: ‘Signora,’ he said, ‘I did tell you that –’

‘Good God! You again, Massigher!’ snapped Maria Gron, without letting him finish the sentence. ‘All because of a bit of water on the floor! Ettore will wipe it up in a minute. These wretched windows let in water all the time, we must have the fastenings seen to!’

But Ettore did not appear, nor did any other of the numerous staff of servants. There was a sudden feeling of oppression and hostility abroad in the night. Meanwhile the mysterious splashes had developed into an almost continuous roar, as if barrels were being rolled around in the foundations, so that even the sound of the pouring rain outside was barely audible.

‘Signora!’ shouted Massigher suddenly, jumping to his feet determinedly. ‘Signora, where has Giorgina gone? Let me go and call her!’

‘What now, Massigher?’ Maria Gron’s face still expressed coldly polite amazement. ‘You are all terribly nervous this evening. What do you want Giorgina for? You don’t actually wish to wake her up, I trust?’

‘Wake her up!’ the young man retorted, almost mocking. ‘Wake her up! There you go again!’

From the passage hidden behind the curtain, as from an icy cave, there came a sudden violent gust of wind. The curtain billowed like a sail and twisted around itself to allow the lights of the room to shine beyond it and reflect in the pool of water on the floor.

‘Fedri, run and close it quickly,’ cursed his father. ‘Good Lord, call the servants!’

But the boy seemed almost amused by this unusual turn of events. He ran across the dark hall shouting: ‘Ettore! Ettore! Berto! Sofia!’ but his shouts were lost unanswered in the empty corridors.

‘Papà!’ he called suddenly. ‘There’s no light out here. I can’t see a thing … Oh God, what’s happened?’

Back in the room all had risen to their feet, alarmed by his sudden call. Suddenly, inexplicably, water seemed to be pouring through the whole house. The wind blew fiercely through it as though there were holes in the walls, shaking the lamps, scattering cards and papers, upsetting flowers.

Fedri reappeared, looking as white as a sheet and trembling slightly. ‘Good God,’ he kept saying mechanically. ‘Good God, how awful.’

Did he still need to explain that the river had burst its banks and was right here, below the house and was pouring past, implacable and uncaring? That the walls on that side of the house were about to collapse? That the servants had all vanished into the night and that soon no doubt there would be no light at all? His white face, his panicked shouts (he who was usually so elegant and self-confident), the frightful roar welling up from the bottomless abyss beneath them – was not all this sufficient explanation?

‘We must leave immediately, my car’s out there, it would be mad not to …’ Martora was saying, he being the only one who had retained any semblance of calm. At this point Giorgina reappeared, wrapped in a thick coat, accompanied by Massigher; she was sobbing a little, though quite decorously, almost without making a sound. Her father began searching around in the drawer containing his important papers.