Soon the midsummer dream would end in medieval Dubrovnik. The Austrians would retreat again, homeward bound from Porec and Portoroz. Across the Adriatic it would end, too, along the Romagnese Riviera where the beach at Rimini stretches wide and flat for 15 miles and strange oblong sails flapping on sand-anchored masts are the local umbrella. And the Romagnese would spend the winter waiting for the tourists and eating pappardelle, which is a macaroni pie with giblets, and big Comacchio eels broiled with sage and laurel. Only in Venice would the party go on from now until mid-September. Then the astral bodies, the titled bodies and the bodies that were merely tan would at last depart and the hotel would play out the season at rates 40% reduced until the month was done. Then the battalions of waiters, the red-shirted lifeguards and Ricardo Zucchi himself would pack it all in until the sun came up again on the Adriatic.