"We will each take the same, waiter."
There was no talk at all before the coffees arrived. Somewhere from the heights of a palace window came a string of staccato notes, clear and strong. It was flute music, the "March of the Palio."
Giorgio wiped the anxious moisture from his palms. A distant church bell chimed the hour. The time had come! And with it the two steaming cups.
"Sugar?" The waiter held the bowl first for the Chief, then set it down in front of Giorgio. Two spoonfuls went into each tiny cup, and both the man and the boy stirred vigorously, as if they had no other thought on their minds. In unison, too, they sipped the sweet bitterness.
At last the Chief looked directly at Giorgio. "Well, boy? Did you go today to the Street Market?"
"Si, si."
"Did you buy the umbrella?"
"No, Signore." Giorgio hesitated. "You see, Uncle Marco is my very good friend. He said the umbrella now is not needed. Instead, he gave me, for luck, a coral horn and a rabbit's foot."
A smile crossed the Chief's lips. "I will start from the first." He set down his cup. "Now then! Two tradesmen from Seggiano have engaged me to purchase for them the mare, Farfalla."
Giorgio drew in a quick breath. Why did the very mention of her name give him a shock?