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Marshal's face was getting redder than ever. He was sure that if he drank any more of this good red wine he would fall asleep on the bus back to Florence. A fine figure to cut, and in uniform, too. But Niccolini had filled his glass up to the brim for him and Tozzi had rolled his trolley to the table and was carving thick juicy slices off the roast. Well, he wouldn't have any sweet, he decided, as the big plate was set before him.
    'Mmm . . .!' Niccolini sat back a little later, dabbing with his napkin. 'Well, what do you think?'
    'It's very good.'
    'Eh? Oh, the roast? Splendid stuff. I meant what do you think about this business of the girl. Anything in it, would you say?'
    'There might be, there might not. To tell you the truth, I'm more interested in what you think. After all, you know her. I've never seen her.'
    'I suppose you're right. Well, she seems a sensible enough lass to me.'
    'Not the sort to just drift off without telling anybody?'
    'I'd say she wasn't. You never can tell, of course, I've known some strange things happen in my time, but she certainly seems very serious about what she's doing, you know what I mean? And then the Swiss, very precise people, very precise.'
    'They can't all be alike,' said the Marshal reasonably.
    'No, no . . . But she is precise, you see, in her ways. Careful about what she eats, too. Not enough to keep a bird alive, in my opinion, and never more than one glass of wine, though I always offer her some of mine. One glass and then mineral water. Tac! Won't be persuaded to another drop at any price.'
    The Marshal, having experienced something of Niccolini's steam-roller methods of persuasion, thought this Swiss girl must be a very strong character indeed.
    'She's not involved with any man around here that you know of?'
    'Not that I know of, no. You can bet your life that Berti's tried, the old goat, but I can't see a pretty young girl as bright as she is having anything to do with him. My young brigadier's got a bit of a soft spot for her, too, between ourselves. He generally eats with me here and his eyes always light up when she comes in - can't blame him either. Oh, I'm not saying she encourages him, not in any serious way, but she flirts with him a bit, you know. Always looks pleased to see him, interested in everything he has to say, teases him a bit. But nothing out of place and of course I'm always here . . . Lovely girl - though it wouldn't do to be that open and friendly with the men hereabouts, in my opinion. I suppose these young foreign girls have different ways from ours . . . Even so, they're a likely bunch of lads in there.' He indicated the big room next door from where sounds of noisy talk and laughter filtered through to their sedate dining-room. 'That's why Tozzi always has her eat with us.'
    'I would have thought,' said the Marshal, looking about him, 'that he'd have put her in here.'
    'He would do but she won't hear of it. She reckons it's more cheerful next door with the potters, more lively. True, of course.'
    'Yes.' The Marshal wished he'dhad this girl's presence of mind. He'd have learnt a lot more about the town if he, too, had insisted on being next door with the potters. Well, he would have to content himself with what Niccolini could tell him. No doubt he knew everything about everybody.
    'How long have you been here?'
    'Just over a year. Seems like less but it was a year last month. Settled down into the woodwork right away, never miss Rome at all. Mind you, anywhere suits me, I take life as it comes. The wife had a bit of trouble settling in, changing schools and what have you, but with a bit of effort ... an odd lot, the people round here, until you get used to them but they're good enough at heart. We get on pretty well, all in all.'
    'Odd in what way?'
    'Well, they are what they are, you know, they have their own ways, and you get one or two real oddities. Between you and me-' he lowered his voice - 'in a place as small as this and with so many family