"Yes, you. This life is a big puzzle, Celli, jumbled with odd-shaped pieces. Then presto, the pieces, they fit!"
"Am I one of the odd pieces?" the doctor laughed.
"Let us say you were."
"And the other?"
"The other piece is...." the Signore ran his fingers through his shaggy white hair. Then he straightened to his full height and spoke in staccato excitement. "The other piece is an Arabian mare. She is called by the name Farfalla, and she moves as easily as an oiled machine. I found her in the Maremma. Quite by happenstance." The words now came more slowly. "Doctor Celli, you are the one to prescribe for her. She has the nervous tic."
The young man burst into fresh laughter. "Do you forget, Signore, I am a doctor of accounting, not of medicine?"
"I know, I know; but a doctor of this or that is smart enough to work magic in other fields. Besides, you are a horseman. You have a villa and hunting reserves, and as I recall, there is on your farm a good road, long and straight, fit for gallops. And," he paused a moment in his eagerness, "in less than three months, the Palio!"
The two men in the courtyard stood facing a statue, very tall, of Bandini, a celebrated economist, but neither one saw it. Nor were they conscious of the people going in and out of the bank. They were both seeing the same vision: Piazza del Campo in battle array—flags flying, lances gleaming, knights and nobles marching, horses dancing at the ropes, fantinos tense and ready. In their veins all of the ancient feelings boiled up again.
For a long moment the silence seemed unbreakable. Then at last Signor Busisi exploded. "You, Celli! You belong to the Contrada of the Unicorn. No?"
"Si, si."