And suddenly she cries out in the unending silence, a long-drawn-out, manic cry that she could contain no longer. She says to herself: That's it! Now I really am mad. I've finally succumbed to the darting demons of my adolescence, which have always been lurking in the still-water depths of my green eyes with their shimmering irises. On my identity card I am Caroline de Saxe by birth, but my real name is Belzebeth, princess of the blood, more often called the bloody princess. I am walking now down the interminable corridor lined with tortures and murders. Even as a child, right at the back of the attic, where the beams came down too low...No, there's no time for that now! This long black car with its windows obscured by thick curtains, its motor ticking over, biding its time, on the grassy road that hugs the dune behind the row of bathing-huts, this I recognize: it's the ambulance from the mental hospital where in a few minutes I shall be back with the sinister Dr. Morgan and his textual experiments, having once again passed through the black door that has neither number nor key and is surmounted by a vertical eye within a triangle of gold fillets, carved point downwards.