Fearful of missing a word, Emilio flew to the grotto of a cellar behind the front steps and returned breathless with a dusty old flask.
Giorgio was busy scooping out a little hollow in the crust with the point of his knife.
"What you doing, Giorgio?" asked the father. "You not eating the ham?"
"No, thank you," he said, noticing how little was left. "I am just hungry to taste again our onions cut up in the crust with vinegar and salt, and maybe some capers, if we have...."
The capers appeared as if by magic from Teria's hand.
Between bites, Giorgio interrupted the silence which surrounded him. "But why," he asked of Babbo, "do they sell that mare from one to the other? Is it the nervous tic?"
The father pursed his lips, thinking.
"That can be controlled," Giorgio added quickly. "The great Sans Souci had it, and my Imperiale has it, too. Is it only because of that?"
"No." The father paused.
"What, then?"