“That’s very ingenuous, my dear. You can be sure no one in Italy will believe that. And if it were believed, it wouldn’t be to your credit. Adultery can be understood, but nothing like saving one’s soul; we’re an old civilized people, but basically very elemental. That northern gloominess of wanting to achieve a soul, or whatever you want to call it, will never go here. It’s perverse—worse than snobbery, cruelty, infidelity, extravagance—anything. An extreme presumption.”

“I don’t care what’s going on at the moment or what anyone says or thinks; I care for what I have to do in this moment. And what I have to do is my business.”

They talked about what she would do. “I thought of going to Florence,” she said, “because there the girls won’t be too far from Alberto. But first I’m going to the States. To see Tina and my parents.”

“Alberto will suffer. Tell me what you do—what you want to do.”

“I’ve worked in the library at St. Gregory’s American school, but I’d rather do photography. Or translations—I’ve done that. You know what’s going on in Italy; what new writers could I start translating when I get to Florence?”

“Keep in touch with me, I’ll let you know.”

Driving away from Cesare Servi, she saw her future clearly before her. The butt of cruel Italian jokes, she would be the scandal of a society that would judge her, not Alberto. She saw herself committed to the social limbo of separated women, while Alberto flourished like a younger, more attractive Cesare Servi. For Alberto was attractive to women. Widows, ambitious poetesses, the young daughters of his friends, hostesses all over town who always needed single men—they would all start calling him. I never wanted to be alone, she thought. Was this justice?

Yes, for she had broken the marriage. But no, she cried, he broke it too. Then why are you letting yourself be punished? Because I want to get out!

At the Palace of Justice, Alberto was in a state of tired depression. Marguerite, however, looked about intently, wishing to record this event in her life as accurately as her wedding day. Già! The day she had worn black and her mother had predicted disaster. Now, to sever the union, she wore a bright yellow sports coat and felt more like a girl than she had nearly twenty years before.