Florence in Ecstasy. Jessie Chaffee

scoppiata!” she says to Francesca, clutching it like a prize—the lost lantern means someone was aiming for her.

      “Brava, brava.” Francesca smiles at her for the first time all evening.

      “Okay,” I say to Peter. “I’ll see you on the water.”

      That night, before attempting sleep, I read the final chapter on the saint’s life. Like all the greats, it seems, it was short. Catherine died at age thirty-three of a stroke, at which point she was eating almost nothing, subsisting on only water and the Eucharist.