Letters of Two Brides

This piece of news flung me back despairing on my drawing-room sofa.

Could it be that my father, instead of spending this money in

arranging a marriage for me, would have left me to die in the convent?

This was the first thought to greet me on the threshold of my home.

Ah! Renee, what would I have given then to rest my head upon your

shoulder, or to transport myself to the days when my grandmother made

the life of these rooms? You two in all the world have been alone in

loving me--you away at Maucombe, and she who survives only in my

heart, the dear old lady, whose still youthful eyes used to open from

sleep at my call. How well we understood each other!

These memories suddenly changed my mood. What at first had seemed

profanation, now breathed of holy association. It was sweet to inhale

the faint odor of the powder she loved still lingering in the room;

sweet to sleep beneath the shelter of those yellow damask curtains

with their white pattern, which must have retained something of the

spirit emanating from her eyes and breath. I told Philippe to rub up

the old furniture and make the rooms look as if they were lived in; I

explained to him myself how I wanted everything arranged, and where to

put each piece of furniture. In this way I entered into possession,

and showed how an air of youth might be given to the dear old things.

The bedroom is white in color, a little dulled with time, just as the

gilding of the fanciful arabesques shows here and there a patch of

red; but this effect harmonizes well with the faded colors of the

Savonnerie tapestry, which was presented to my grandmother by Louis

XV. along with his portrait. The timepiece was a gift from the

Marechal de Saxe, and the china ornaments on the mantelpiece came from

the Marechal de Richelieu. My grandmother's portrait, painted at the

age of twenty-five, hangs in an oval frame opposite that of the King.

The Prince, her husband, is conspicuous by his absence. I like this

frank negligence, untinged by hypocrisy--a characteristic touch which

sums up her charming personality. Once when my grandmother was

seriously ill, her confessor was urgent that the Prince, who was

waiting in the drawing-room, should be admitted.

"He can come in with the doctor and his drugs," was the reply.

The bed has a canopy and well-stuffed back, and the curtains are

looped up with fine wide bands. The furniture is of gilded wood,

upholstered in the same yellow damask with white flowers which drapes

the windows, and which is lined there with a white silk that looks as

though it were watered. The panels over the doors have been painted,

by what artist I can't say, but they represent one a sunrise, the

other a moonlight scene.