swarthy body, funny, nice, he had all the qualities and one flaw: he didn't love me. Leaving Capri, his interest in me seemed to have melted like snow in the sun and, while he was preparing for the journey in the Venezuelan jungle - being a special man he had chosen a special profession: diamond hunter - he had sent me only a few short letters from Florence , then a few postcards, then nothing more. And I found myself in the festive hurricane of the worldly September, alone. Alone, pale, thin and with an absent look.
And so mom decided it would do me good to leave for a while and signed me up for a class at the Ecole des Arts Decoratifs. I was happy to leave for Paris and see Monique again.
Monique's parents - Jean and Paule de Beaumont de Bonin de la Bonniniere de Beaumont - had as many houses as surnames, with the difference being that while they used only one surname, the houses more or less were all partaken of.
Villa Molitor to live there. Le Chateau in Sologna, given its relative proximity to Paris, for weekends. Le Chateau de chasse in Alsace was for a few initiates, friends of Jean, while the house on the Corsican cliffs was the undisputed kingdom of Paule.
I liked going to Sologna, crossing the picturesque villages, the luxuriant French countryside, entering the green park of ancient trees with, in front of the house, a small lake surrounded by flowers.
The house was comfortable, cheerful, always full of guests. One of these weekends Monique got angry because I called Aleksandr Karagjorgjevic stupid. I defended myself by pointing out that I hadn't called him stupid at all, I had only pointed out that what...
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