Blind Lust

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I have often been asked to write my memoirs. I have always resisted the blandishments of mere curiosity, however I will yield to yours, my dear Lucien, for I firmly believe in the sincerity of the affection which bound us together during so many years despite the combined witchcrafts of time and absence.

Besides has not my sweetest law always been to obey your will?

Not so, I hear you murmur. I assure you that I am telling you the plain truth, and to punish you for your wicked doubt, I will compel you to follow me into the country, far enough removed from the place in which we actually dwell.

It is towards the Garden of France that we must turn our steps; at some kilometres from Tours, a pleasant city near which lies the Chateau de Pauvanne, the abode of the Marquis de Pauvanne, my grandmother.

It was within the walls of this handsome thirteenth century edifice that the days of my infancy and my youth slipped by.

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