Auberge de La Maison Auberge de La Maison - Golden Book Hotels

PRINCESS VIRGINIA 10 - 11
Virginia’s bad temper was the only discordant note.
It did, however, blend with the chaotic, noisy, nearby
Adriatic Riviera, overhung with a muggy, grey pall.
She felt suffocated at the thought of having to spend
another summer there. On the other hand, she imagined
herself immediately surrounded by limpid blue
skies and clean air in spectacular Entrèves valley at
the foot of Mont Blanc. She was going to attempt the
climb to the top. Used to putting herself to the test,
she would try, with the help of a mountain guide, to
climb up to the most beautiful sky in Italy, artfully created
by the good Lord. She had already bought climbing
boots and a harness so she could drink her fill of
blueness. The razor-sharp peaks of Val d’Aosta were
waiting for her. She fervently hoped that the Auberge
de La Maison would call her back. She waited until
her eyes were used to the darkness of the square room.
Anxiously, she looked up at the frescoed vault where
Venus was portrayed among clouds and billowing
pink veils, her hands reaching out to capture the sun’s
rays in a prism.
“It’s unusual iconography for a boudoir,” the tour
guide had said shortly before.
“The illusion created by the use of trompe-l’œil is bril-