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.They stayed on the next floor in the same hotel and I had no more peace.At mealtimes, in Via Po, in the car, I was always with someone.Madame liked the furnishings, more or less,- she wanted handrails for some of the stairs, and once she suggested moving the shop to Via Roma.Then she set out for Paris with two designers and left word for me and her husband to get the opening ready for Easter.I spent the days telephoning and seeing mannequins, studying programs, acting as secretary and head of the business.Morelli appeared, and also some women who wanted discounts, favors, jobs for homely daughters and acquaintances.There was a dance at the hotel where I saw Momina and Mariella again.Then madame returned from Paris with some new models and Febo.That damned nuisance had gone to Paris on his own, had been charming and won her over and persuaded her to put on a musical revue to present the new models.Soon musicians and impresarios began to show up at the hotel and Via Po,- it wasn't Turin any more; luckily these things never went very far because the next day someone would think of something different; I stopped bothering with it and spent my days at the shop.One day I said: "I wonder how Rosetta is?" and telephoned Momina."I'll come and see you," she replied."I don't know what to say.The fool went and killed herself again."I waited for the green car with my heart in my throat.When I saw it at the curb, I left the shop, and Momina slammed the door, crossed the portico, and said: "I've had it."She was as elegant as ever, wearing a feathered beret.We went up to one of the salons."She's been missing since yesterday.Half an hour ago I phoned and the maid told me that she had gone on a trip with me."There was no mistake.Neither Nene nor Mariella had seen her.Momina didn't have the courage to telephone Rosetta's mother."I still hoped she might be with you," she murmured with a faint smile.I said it was her fault; that even if Rosetta hadn't killed herself, it was her fault.I told her I don't know what.I was sure I was right and could stand up to her.I insulted her as if she were my sister.Momina stared at the rug without trying to defend herself."I'm annoyed that they thought she was with me," she said.We telephoned Rosetta's mother.She wasn't home.Then we drove around to all the shops and churches she might have gone to.We went back to the villa, where we intended to telephone her father.But it wasn't necessary.As I was getting out of the car, I saw her mother approaching, fat and black, under the trees along the avenue.All that day we stayed with the shouting, distracted parents, telephoning, waiting, running to the door.I must have been deaf and blind; I recalled Rosetta's words and looks, and I knew I had known that this would happen, had known it all along, and hadn't paid any attention.But then I said, could anyone have stopped her? And I thought, maybe she has run off the way you did with Becuccio.Then people began to come.Everybody said: "They'll find her.It's just a question of time." Mariella came up with her mother, acquaintances and relatives, someone from the police.It seemed like a reception in the big airy room under the immense chandelier, and everyone asked how anyone like Rosetta who had such a need to live could want to die.Somebody said that suicide ought to be forbidden.Momina talked to everybody, mordantly but courteously.There was even a woman who wanted to grill me about my work and talk about the shop's opening.People in corners began to give opinions about Rosetta's story.I couldn't stay any longer.Madame was waiting for me.All evening the mother's frightened eyes and the father's bewildered, ferocious face stayed in my mind.I couldn't help thinking how much he resembled Rosetta.Momina was supposed to telephone me but didn't.I was in conference with the designers and Febo, but I got up and telephoned.The maid told me, weeping, that Rosetta had been found.She was dead.In a rented room on Via Napione.Mariella came to the phone.She told me in a broken voice that it was so.Momina and the others had gone to identify her.She herself couldn't; it would have driven her mad.They were bringing her home.She had taken poison again.At midnight I learned the rest of the story.Momina came to the hotel in her car and told me that Rosetta was already at home, laid out on her bed.She didn't seem dead.There was only a swelling of the lips, as if she were angry
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