“I would like Emma’s consent, with Franco’s approval, of course, to be the bearer of my child”-his face was burning-“by means of a process-very impersonal, very proper, performed by a qualified physician-of… of artificial insemination. This would, it goes without saying, involve no contact between us. I would, of course, expect to repay you-both of you-generously-for the inconvenience it would cause.”

Emma, shocked, covered her mouth and stared at him. Franco’s eyes narrowed. The congealed gears of his mind were beginning to move, however slushily.

“The child would be brought up as my own, my own and Stefania’s,” Domenico said hurriedly, speaking to Emma. “No one but Stefania and I and the two of you would know the truth.”

“Uncle! I, I-” She was blushing furiously.

“How would that work?” Franco asked. “That no one would ever know the truth?”

How perfectly Domenico understood Franco’s mind, so true to its owner’s class. If there was profit in it, he was interested, but first he needed assurance that his own cherished manhood-his most prized possession-would suffer no slurs. Domenico was ready with his answers. “Emma would go to a small village up in the mountains.

Gignese, a pleasant place with a good climate. I have contacts there, and Dr. Luzzatto would always be within easy reach. She would have a fine villa and be cared for in luxury, anything she wished. A maid, a cook. Franco, you could go with her. A nice vacation, why not? Only after the baby was born would she return to Stresa. People would be told that she had become ill with tuberculosis and had gone to a sanatorium in Switzerland. No one would know, I promise you.”

“That’s all very fine,” Franco said. “But what about your wife, what about Stefania? Suddenly, without a pregnancy, she has a baby? How could that be explained?”