It was summer, and the region looked its kindest of the year. The wheat was already golden, the oats still green. The hay had been stacked in ricks on the fertile meadows, where the stork wandered with its red legs, chattering in Egyptian, the only language its mother had taught it. Around the field and meadows were great forests, in the center of which were deep lakes. And in the most desolate place of the region stood an old mansion surrounded by a deep moat.
