I was fascinated by the large armoire with its marquetry angel figures, wood on wood. Perfectly stunning. Mechanically, I asked: “Where am I?” “At the chateau.” “Which chateau?” “The chateau of Versailles, idiot.” “Ah …” Little by little I was emerging from a comatose sleep and at the same time becoming aware of a throbbing pain in the back of my neck, which immediately drove away the amnesia from which I’d been suffering. I realized that the night was over. Twenty-four hours had elapsed since dawn in the Hôtel d’Angleterre. I was lost, truly lost and – this I realized when I made an automatic move – unarmed. “So your mind is working again?” The man stood facing me with his back to the light so that I couldn’t make out his face. But I realized that he knew what he was talking about and that if I wanted to have a useful exchange with him, I’d better get my wits back as quickly as possible. “I’d like a glass of water …” “Here there is nothing to drink but champagne … So we’re playing spy, are we?
