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we kept repeating, though we knew very well that no such guns were being fired any longer. And why? No one can say. Even the "sfollati" show consternation. With every thud I prayed for the old monuments and buildings of Florence. The Signora S., during an interval, began making seething remarks about our new refuge. Should a bomb fall "nous serions tous ecrabuilles ensemble!" she exclaimed, making a gesture as though mixing an omelet. Then, to show her indifference to any such awful fate she chattered away about herself, her ruined villa and a certain wonderful conference given by her in Florence many years ago. Then came up the moot question whether the Germans or the Allies had bombed the Vatican. The Professor, his pea-head all but lost in a pea-pod fur collar argued that it must have been the Germans since they failed to fire at the aeroplane that passed over their protecting circle outside of Rome: "Not a gun was fired!" "Surely the Germans could have easily forestalled just such an accusation by at least feigning to fire at the aeroplane," someone else answered. But at this point a very loud report interrupted the argument. Bombs were now falling on the Campo di Marte just beyond the Piazza Michelangelo - the David statue is visible from our terrace.

In the afternoon, we went down to see the Countess. It was her birthday and we expected to meet there our friend Y. But she was still resting at home, we were told.

The Duke D. di D. was very excited over a course of drawing which