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Good evening.

In this episode, I'll be reading chapter 6 and 7 of The Scarlet Pimpanel by Baroness Emusca Ortsi.

So let your eyes fall heavy and your breath soften as we settle in for a peaceful night's sleep.

Chapter 6, an exquisite of 92.

Sir Percy Blakeney, as the chronicles of the time in Formas, was in this year of grace 1792, still a year or two on the right side of 30.

Tall, above the average, even for an Englishman, broad-shouldered and massively built.

He would have been called unusually good-looking, but for a certain lazy expression in his deep-set blue eyes.

And that perpetually-enamed laugh, which seemed to disfigure his strong, clearly cut mouth.

It was nearly a year ago now that Sir Percy Blakeney, but one of the richest men in England, leader of all the fashions,

and intimate friend of the Prince of Wales, had astonished fashionable society in London and Barb by bringing home from one of his journey abroad.

A beautiful, fascinating, clever French wife.

He, the sleepiest, dullest, most British-Britisher, that ever set a pretty woman-yawning, had secured a brilliant matrimonial prize for which, as all chronicles of air, there had been many competitors.

Margaret sent just, at first, made her debut in artistic Parisian circles.

At the very moment, when the greatest social upheaval, the world had ever known.

At the very moment, when the greatest social upheaval, the world has ever known, was taking place within its very walls.

...