The pigeon, having had quite enough, executes a vertical takeoff with the dignity of a creature who was never there. This is a tactical error. Deprived of its quarry, the golden dog discovers that its collar has been working loose all morning — and with one final dramatic lunge, it slips free. The lead falls to the cobblestones with a cheerful jingle of the brass bell. For one suspended moment, dog and twins regard each other across the space where the pigeon used to be. Then the dog bolts. Not toward the harbour. Not back toward the kiosk. Straight up the hill, nose aimed with terrible precision at the flower-dressed terrace where twenty-seven wedding guests will shortly expect to sit down to a civilised lunch. Aurora and Flavio do not deliberate. This is, clearly, the only reasonable response to the situation. They give chase at full toddler velocity — dark bow bobbing, boutonnière streaming like a pennant — while behind them, the gelato vendor raises a finished cone to find no one there to receive it.