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seem ascomposed. There were twenty different kinds of cake. They took ten each, with greedy speed, so that they had one of every kind between them and could swap if necessary. When the trolley was wheeled away, Tonino just managed to spare a glance from his plate to see how the Petrocchis were doing. Each girl had her white knees hooked up to carry a plate big enough to hold ten cakes.
    They were rich cakes. By the time Paolo reached the tenth, he was going slowly, wondering if he really cared for meringue as much as he had thought, and Tonino was only on his sixth. By the time Paolo had put his plate neatly under his chair and cleaned himself with his handkerchief, Tonino, sticky with jam, smeared with chocolate and cream and infested with crumbs, was still doggedly ploughing through his eighth. And this was the moment the Duchess chose to sit smiling down beside Paolo.
    “I won’t interrupt your brother,” she said, laughing. “Tell me about yourself, Paolo.” Paolo did not know what to answer. All he could think of was the mess Tonino looked. “For instance,” the Duchess asked helpfully, “does spell-making come easily to you? Do you find it hard to learn?”
    “Oh no, Your Grace,” Paolo said proudly. “I learn very easily.” Then he was afraid this might upset Tonino. He looked quickly at Tonino’s pastry-plastered face and found Tonino staring gravely at the Duchess. Paolo felt ashamed and responsible. He wanted the Duchess to know that Tonino was not just a messy staring little boy. “Tonino learns slowly,” he said, “but he reads all the time. He’s read all the books in the Library. He’s almost as learned as Uncle Umberto.”
    “How remarkable,” smiled the Duchess.
    There was just a trace of disbelief in the arch of her eyebrows. Tonino was so embarrassed that he took a big bite out of his ninth cake. It was a great pastry puff. The instant his mouth closed round it,Tonino knew that, if he opened his mouth again, even to breathe, pastry would blow out of it like a hailstorm, all over Paolo and the Duchess. He clamped his lips together and chewed valiantly. And, to Paolo’s embarrassment, he went on staring at the Duchess. He was wishing Benvenuto was there to tell him about the Duchess. She muddled him. As she bent smiling over Paolo, she did not look like the haughty, rigid lady who had been so patient with the Duke. And yet, perhaps because she was not being patient, Tonino felt the rank strength of the unsaintly thoughts behind her waxy smile, stronger than ever.
    Paolo willed Tonino to stop chewing and goggling. But Tonino went on, and the disbelief in the Duchess’s eyebrows was so obvious, that he blurted out, “And Tonino’s the only one who can talk to Benvenuto. He’s our boss cat, Your—” He remembered the Duchess did not like cats. “Er—you don’t like cats, Your Grace.”
    The Duchess laughed. “But I don’t mind hearing about them. What about Benvenuto?”
    To Paolo’s relief, Tonino turned his goggle eyes from the Duchess to him. So Paolo talked on. “You see, Your Grace, spells work much better and stronger if a cat’s around, and particularly if Benvenuto is. Besides Benvenuto knows all sorts of things—”
    He was interrupted by a thick noise from Tonino. Tonino was trying to speak without opening his mouth. It was clear there was going to be a pastry-storm any second. Paolo snatched out his jammy, creamy handkerchief and held it ready.
    The Duchess stood up, rather hastily. “I think I’d better see how my other guests are getting on,” she said, and went swiftly gliding across to the Petrocchi girls.
    The Petrocchi girls, Paolo noticed resentfully, were ready to receive her. Their handkerchiefs had been busy while the Duchess talked to Paolo, and now their plates were neatly pushed under their chairs too.Each had left at least three cakes. This much encouraged Tonino. He was feeling rather unwell. He put the rest of the ninth cake back beside the tenth