He gingerly returned each book to its respective place and inhaled the lovely scent emanating from the open bookcase. He took several deep breaths until he’d filled his lungs, and shut the doors only when he felt inebriated. He tried to hide his discomfort as he turned to the Ferreros, whose faces now burned with a flame of hope, that was determined to triumph over the only too conspicuous disasters life brings.

“Why do you want to sell these books?” he asked, against all his principles, already seeking out a path to the history of that exceptional library. Nobody consciously, so abruptly, got rid of treasure like that, (and he’d only glimpsed the first promising jewels), unless there was some other reason, apart from hunger, and the Count felt an urgent need to know what that might be.

“It’s a long story and…” Dionisio hesitated for the first time since he’d encountered the Count, but immediately recovered an almost martial aplomb. “We still aren’t sure we want to sell. That will depend on the offer you make. There are lots of bandits in the antiques trade as you well know… The other day two paid us a visit. They wanted to buy our stained-glass windows and the cheeky bastards offered three hundred dollars for each… They think one is either mad or starving to death…”

“Of course, lots of people are on the make. But I’d like to know why you’ve decided to sell the books now…”

Dionisio looked at his sister, as if he didn’t understand: how could the fellow be stupid enough to ask such a question? The Count cottoned on and, smiling, tried to refocus his curiosity for a third time.

“Why did you wait until now to decide to sell them?”

The transparent woman, perhaps stirred by the urgency of her hunger, was the one who rushed to reply.

“It’s Mummy. Our Mother,” she explained. “She agreed to look after these books years ago…”