How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. ‘But lay him down. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. Ah, Thierry and Poussaint, if my memory serves me. It is not you who runs the risk of going dinnerless to-morrow.
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