Blodwyn was une merveilleuse. She had an orange head. She played spinet with great élan the day before she wed. She married a man called Fulgenceac, one of les incroyables. His nose was as the beak of a crow, and he soon lost his marbles.

Blodwyn hired a rowing boat and plied it ‘cross the lake. She gathered herbs and flowers an infusion for to make. “This will set your brain to rights, do drink it, Fulgenceac,” she said when she re-rowed the lake, as soon as she got back.

But there was rotten ergot in her bubbling hot tisane, so when her husband drank it he went permanently insane. Blodwyn had to chain him up in the attic of their chateau, and ever after all her days were filled with grief and woe.

If this story has a moral, it is one I have forgot. Just be very wary of contaminated ergot.