It was a tiny corner of the world, shut off, discreet, distilling romance, a garden of dreams, of enchantments.
Below, in the little valley, the resplendent colourations of the million flowers, roses, lilies, hyacinths, carnations, violets, glowed like incandescence in the golden light of the rising moon.

The air was thick with the perfume, heavy with it, clogged with it.

The sweetness filled the very mouth.

The throat choked with it.

Overhead wheeled the illimitable procession of the constellations.