I fix on a street near a cemetery, beside an avenue of trees, and that street contains in its secret, the only key to those late afternoons, the surprise of Théreze Lamarck in the city, when upon arriving from Lescar she converts, rapidly, the meadows of the castle into pavements symmetrical, spoliated of all epoch, and in the mutedness of their footsteps there converge horsemen with weighty helmets and covered faces...