Once outside, she ran towards the playground, and the grotto, a miniature limestone version of the manor, which was in itself a miniature of a fortress. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. Clotilde flew into a rage, crying, “How dare you lay claim to my children! I am their mother! This is a Godless house!” She accused. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan. “I am delighted to see you, Mr.
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