A recluse amongst the shadows of a stone castle, a forgotten woman wanders in silence. Her name is Juana, Joan and long ago she was called La Loca, the mad. Suddenly, a shivery melody is heard. A flute? A voice? A moaning viol, a succession of chords on the lute, a strange sort of ringing which is lost in the echo. There are shadows looming up from the shadows. It is they, the musicians. They have come back to sing and play for her, with her, like the ghosts of happiness past. - Alain Bergeron - Translated by Nancy Oehler