The sound of the iron bound wheels of the carriage suddenly changed as they touched the smooth

gravel path, Tartuffe leaned out of the window at the same moment as shaft of sunlight caught the gilded gates visible through the dust risong from the road. His head was full of aprehension mixed with joy at his return to this place of joy and pleasure mixed with sadness.

The road from Marsielles was long but not as long as the sea voyage from Martinique the fever ridden island beyond the sargasso sea . This was a place of exile a hiding place in one of his fathers distant counting houses far enough from the long reaching hand of the French court but not far enough from the insistant call of the one he must call Colombine

.He fingers the brooch with the lock of hair which he carries constantly ,He sighs and slumps back in his seat wandering if her husband still lives or would she be free to be with the one she knew as Pierrot ?

Tartuffe sighed and contemplated his return to this place. Now his father had died and Tartuffe had come into his own fortune he hasreturned now with great wealth which he knew from bitter experience would not endear him to others with longer names and even longer pedigree. The carriage jerked to a halt before the gilded gates of the palace Tartuffe alighted quickly and looked about him in the dusty air ..

To be continued .

updated by @john-wilmot-earl-of-rochester: 06 Oct 2016 06:22:07AM