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uncomfortable—so they took no notice.
    After they had waited a while, both parties began to talk quietly among themselves, as if the others were not there. Tonino murmured to Paolo, “Which one is Angelica?” “I don’t know,” Paolo whispered. “Didn’t you see them at the Old Bridge then?” “I didn’t see any of them. They were all down the other—” Part of the red hanging swung aside and a lady hurried in. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “My husband has been delayed.”
    Everyone in the room bent their heads and murmured “Your Grace” because this was the Duchess. But Paolo and Tonino kept their eyes on her while they bent their heads, wanting to know what she was like. She had a stiff grayish dress on, which put them in mind of a statue of a saint, and her face might almost have been part of the same statue. It was a statue-pale face, almost waxy, as if the Duchess were carved out of slightly soapy marble. But Tonino was not sure the Duchess was really like a saint. Her eyebrows were set in a strong sarcastic arch, and her mouth was tight with what looked like impatience. For a second, Tonino thought he felt that impatience—and a number of other unsaintly feelings—pouring into the room from behind the Duchess’s waxy mask like a strong rank smell.
    The Duchess smiled at Old Niccolo. “Signor Niccolo Montana?” There was no scrap of impatience, only stateliness. Tonino thought to himself, I’ve been reading too many books. Rather ashamed, he watched Old Niccolo bow and introduce them all. The Duchess nodded graciously and turned to the Petrocchis. “Signor Guido Petrocchi?”
    The red-bearded man bowed in a rough, brusque way. He was nothing like as courtly as Old Niccolo. “Your Grace. With me are my great-uncle Dr. Luigi Petrocchi, my elder daughter, Renata, and my younger daughter, Angelica.”
    Paolo and Tonino stared at the younger girl, from her bulge of forehead to her thin white legs. So
this
was Angelica. She did not look capable of doing anything wrong, or interesting.
    The Duchess said, “I believe you understand why—”
    The red curtains were once more swept aside. A bulky excited-looking man raced in with his head down, and took the Duchess by one arm. “Lucrezia, you must come! The scenery looks a treat!”
    The Duchess turned as a statue might turn, all one piece. Her eyebrows were very high and her mouth pinched. “My lord Duke!” shesaid freezingly.
    Tonino stared at the bulky man. He was now wearing slightly shabby green velvet with big brass buttons. Otherwise, he was exactly the same as the big damp Mr. Glister who had interrupted the Punch and Judy show that time. So he had been the Duke of Caprona after all! And he was not in the least put off by the Duchess’s frigid look. “You must come and look!” he said, tugging at her arm, as excited as ever. He turned to the Montanas and the Petrocchis as if he expected them to help him pull the Duchess out of the room—and then seemed to realize that they were not courtiers. “Who are you?”
    “These,” said the Duchess—her eyebrows were still higher and her voice was strong with patience—“these are the Petrocchis and the Montanas awaiting your pleasure, my lord.”
    The Duke slapped a large, damp-looking hand to his shiny forehead. “Well I’m blessed! The people who make spells! I was thinking of sending for you. Have you come about this enchanter-fellow who’s got his knife into Caprona?” he asked Old Niccolo.
    “My lord!” said the Duchess, her face rigid.
    But the Duke broke away from her, beaming and gleaming, and dived on the Petrocchis. He shook Old Guido’s hand hugely, and then the girl Renata’s. After that, he dived around and did the same to Old Niccolo and Paolo. Paolo had to rub his hand secretly on his trousers after he let go. He was wet. “And they say the young ones are as clever as the old ones,” the Duke said happily. “Amazing families! Just the people I need for my play—my