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Updated: June 4, 2025
'Oh, I was plunged in all the most appropriate emotions shedding floods of tears over my lost childhood and my misspent youth. Don't you like to have a good cry now and then? Oh, I don't mean literal tears, of course; only spiritual ones. For the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life. I walked over to Granjolaye. André looked surprise. 'To Granjolaye? Have you were you
My days are spent in wondering who you are. She laughed. 'You must have a care, or you'll be typical, she warned him. 'I never said I wasn't human, he called after her, as she cantered away. 'If you have, for once in a way rumour has told the truth. I lived at Saint-Graal till I was thirteen. 'Then perhaps you knew her? 'Her? 'The Queen. Mademoiselle de la Granjolaye de Ravanches.
'I should be disappointed in myself, if I were a man who had been capable of such an innocent, sweet affection as yours for Hélène de la Granjolaye, and had then gone and soiled myself with the mud of what they call life. She spoke earnestly; her face was grave and sad. He was surprised, and a little alarmed. 'Do you mean by that that you think I'm a bad lot? he asked.
She always dressed in white short white frocks, with broad sashes, red or blue. That was the fashion then for little girls. Perhaps it is still I've never noticed. 'Yes. Don't stop. Go on. 'Dear me, I don't know what to say. I used to see her a good deal, because they were our neighbours. Her father used to ask me over to stay at Granjolaye.
'I beg your pardon. And after the coffee, 'Let's go up and play in the garret, he proposed: at which André stared harder still. 'We always used to play in the garret on rainy days, Paul reminded him. 'Mais, ma foi, monsieur, nous ne sommes plus des gosses, André answered. 'Is there any news about the Queen? Paul asked. 'There's never any news from Granjolaye, said André.
'Do you care for love stories? I'm a weary, wayworn man; but upon my word, I've never in all my life felt any such intense emotion for a woman, anything that so nearly deserved to be called love, as I felt for Hélène de la Granjolaye when I was an infant.
Isn't that a syllogism? 'You have been in love then? 'Never. 'Never? 'Oh, I've made a fool of myself occasionally, of course. But I've never been in love. 'Except with Hélène de la Granjolaye? 'Oh, yes, I was in love with her when I was ten. 'Till you were...? 'Till I was...? 'How long did it take you to get over it, I mean? 'I don't know. It wore away gradually. The tooth of time.
She needed a playmate, and I was the only one available. Sometimes she would come and spend a day at Saint-Graal. Do you know Granjolaye? The castle? It's worth going over. It used to belong to the Kings of Navarre, you know. We used to play together in the great audience chamber, and chase each other through the secret passages in the walls. At Saint-Graal we confined ourselves to the garden.
Personne not the Bishop of Bayonne nor the Sous-Préfet, not even feu Monsieur le Comte, though they all called, as a matter of civility. She has her private chaplain. If a guest had arrived at Granjolaye, the whole country would know it and talk of it. 'Oh, I see what you're trying to insinuate, cried Paul.
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