All this so that he could know its colour, because, before the windows of the car door, the red-gold sound of Wallace's name had shown it in all its evidence.
When Golo stopped for a moment to sadly listen to the harangue read aloud by my great-aunt and which he gave the impression of understanding very well, adapting his attitude, with a mildness not lacking in a certain majesty, to the indications of the text, at that hour , in which he then walked away at the same jerky pace.
Even if nothing could stop their slow ride. If they moved the lantern, I could make out Golo's horse that continued to advance on the window curtains, swelling in their folds, sinking in their crevices, then, even with Golo's ability, of such a supernatural essence.
Just like his car, in which he took advantage of the whole path of the environment, in which he went down the street, with the material sector, every uncomfortable object that appeared, to take it as a framework and make it interior, even if it was a matter of from the doorknob, to which he quickly adapted, to which he walked the streets, to which he was invincibly his red cloak or his pale face, always so noble and so melancholy, but which did not betray any uneasiness of his change in which he thought of the future.
It is clear that I found an incredibly special charm in these brilliant projections that seemed to emanate from a Merovingian past and made such remote reflections of history walk around me, in which, however, I cannot describe the uneasiness that this irruption of mystery provoked in me. and of beauty in my room, which I had just filled up with myself to the point where I didn't pay more attention to it than to myself.
The numbing influence of habit had passed, and I began to think and feel - such sad things, with that doorknob, which to me was different from all other doorknobs in the world, in that it seemed to open by itself, without my needing to open it. to turn it, in such a way that its handling had become unconscious to me, behold, it now served as an astral body for Golo.
That was when, as soon as they called for dinner, I felt a rush to run to the refectory where the large overhead light, without knowing about Golo or Bluebeard, and who knew my parents and the casserole of beef, spread its light of every night; and to fall into my mother's arms, that the misfortunes of Diane de Wallace endeared me more, while the crimes that were once committed by Golo made me examine my own conscience with greater pressure.
Unfortunately, after dinner I was soon obliged to leave Mother, who stayed chatting with the others, in the garden, if the weather was fine, or in the small room where everyone sheltered, if it rained. Everyone, except my grandmother who thought that "it's a pity to be locked up in the countryside.
Even though I had endless arguments with my dad, on days when it rained heavily, why would he send me to read in my room instead of outside.
Knowing that's not how you would change anything.
That supposed medicine. – Some said.
- A tonic that he sold in the streets and tried to sell in pharmacies. - In which he said, and she sadly spoke. – Especially this boy who needs so much strength and will.
As for my father, who shrugged his shoulders and examined the barometer, as he liked meteorology, while my mother, avoiding making any noise so as not to disturb him, looked at him with affectionate respect, but not fixedly so as not to imply that she was trying to delve into the mystery of its superiority.
Knowing about my grandmother, whatever the weather, even when the rain was falling hard and Laurent rushed in, picking up the precious wicker armchairs so they wouldn't get wet, I was seen in the empty, downpour-beaten garden, lifting the grey locks and disorderly so that his forehead could better soak in the salubrious of wind and rain.
When he said. - Finally, air to breathe.
In which he walked the sodden paths of the garden, too symmetrically lined up for his liking, by the new gardener who had no feeling for nature and who my father had asked early in the morning if the weather would settle down - with his brisk, enthusiastic step.
Being that he was regulated by the different impulses that excited in his soul the intoxication of the storm, the power of hygiene, the stupidity of my education and the symmetry of the gardens, more than by the desire, which he did not know, all this to avoid the mud stains in the plum-coloured skirt and which covered her to a height that always caused the despair and trouble of her chambermaid.
When my grandmother's walks in the garden took place after dinner, one thing had the power to make her come back soon.
Even if it was one of those moments when the turns of her walk periodically took her, like an insect, in the direction of the lights in the parlour, where the liqueurs were served on the card table.
I went to see the situation, where at that time, when my great-aunt was screaming at him.
- Mathilda! come and see if you stop your husband from drinking brandy!
"How would anyone give brandy to a baby?"
To annoy her, in fact (she had brought to my father's family such a diverse spirit that everyone mocked and tormented her), since liquors were forbidden to my grandfather, my great-aunt made him drink a few drops.
That problematic woman of my grandmother who came in at that hour, when she was ardently begging her husband not to drink brandy, even at that hour, when everyone saw her more grumpy, she got angry, drank her mouthful in spite of everything, and my Grandmother would leave again, sad, discouraged, yet smiling, for her heart was so humble.
Since she was so sweet that her tenderness for others and the little importance she attributed to herself and her sufferings were reconciled in her gaze with a smile where, contrary to what you see on the faces of many people, she was only ironic with herself. , and it was for all of us like a kiss from his eyes.
At that time, when everything could go wrong, when they couldn't see the ones, she loved without caressing them passionately with their eyes.
It would be some pain or anguish that gripped my great-aunt, the spectacle of my grandmother's vain pleas and her frankness, defeated in advance, trying in vain to take the glass of liqueur from my grandfather.
It was what the habit of drinking early in the morning seemed like, the home of these alcoholics, in which of those things whose sight one later gets used to even laughingly considering and taking the side of the persecutor, resolutely and cheerfully, to persuade himself that he did not it comes to persecution; on occasion, being caused a sense of horror that made me want to hit my great-aunt.
Even when he heard the clamour, calling for Mathilda.
Why is she coming to see if you stop your husband from drinking brandy!" Growing up because of cowardice, I did what we all do when we are grown up and there are sufferings and injustices in front of us: I didn't want to see them; went up to sob at the top of the house.
It was in one of these rooms next to the study hall, under the roofs, a small room that smelled of iris, also scented by a wild gooseberry that grew outside between the stones of the wall and a flowering branch passed through the half-open window.
Knowing that even though it was intended for a more special and more vulgar use, this piece, from which, during the day, one could see all the way to the turret of Mouthbathen -Green-Valley- Deltora, this place served for a long time as a refuge for me.
Even if, without a doubt, because I was the only one who allowed me to lock myself away, for all my occupations that required inviolable solitude, even though I am an affected rich man, I still value reading, daydreaming, tears and voluptuousness, even with your lost time in which unfortunately, I did not know then that, much more sadly than the small infractions of her husband's regime.
Even if I had no interest, with my laziness, less than my health, which at that time was not as delicate as it is now, in what they projected onto my future that my grandmother worried during the course of incessant wanderings, in the afternoon and at night, when you saw it pass and pass, obliquely raised against the sky.
Even though her pale, almost gaunt and rustic appearance, which, with the passage of time, had become almost mauve like the crops in autumn, and which she covered, when going out, with a small veil partially raised, and in the which, brought on by the cold or some sad thought, were always drying up involuntary tears.
When I went upstairs to bed, my only consolation was that Mama would kiss me when I was already in bed, knowing that, that it would last so little, and she would come downstairs so quickly, that the moment I heard her come up, and then when she As she walked along the corridor with double doors, the slight rustle of her garden dress, made of blue muslin, with little straps of braided straw, was a painful moment.