I remember. Boggiolo. And he writes, too.”

“Hardly! He’s at the Notary Public Office.”

“A notary? Oh, dear! A notary?”

“In a record office. A fine young man. Stop it, please. I want to finish with this business of the banquet as quickly as possible. I had a guest list, and those dogs … But let’s see if we can reconstruct it. You write. By the way, did you know that Gueli has accepted? It’s the clearest proof he really admires Signora Roncella, as they say.”

Dora Barmis was absorbed in thought; then she said: “I don’t understand. . . . Gueli… he seems so different. . . .”

“Let’s not argue,” Raceni cut her off. “Write: Maurizio Gueli.”

“I’ll add in parenthesis, if you don’t mind, Signora Frezzi permitting. Next?”

“Senator Borghi.”

“Has he accepted?”

“Good heavens. He’ll be presiding! He published House of Dwarves in his literary review. Write: Donna Francesca Lampugnani.”

“My lovely president, yes, yes,” Signora Barmis said as she wrote. “Dear, dear, dear . ..”

“Donna Maria Rosa Bornè-Laturzi,” Raceni continued to dictate.

“Oh, God!” snorted Dora Barmis. “That virtuous little guinea hen?”

“And decorative,” Raceni said. “Write: Filiberto Litti.”

“Very good! It gets better and better!” Signora Barmis approved. “Archaeology next to antiquity! Tell me, Raceni: we’re having this banquet in the ruins of the Forum?”

“By the way!” exclaimed Raceni. “We still have to decide where to have it. Where would you suggest?”

“But with these guests . . .”

“Oh, God, no, I say again, let’s be serious! I was thinking of the Caffe di Roma.”

“In the evening? No! It’s spring. We need to have it during the day, in a beautiful place, outside.