Letters of Two Brides

This drawing-room is furnished in the same style as the bedroom. The

chairs and tables are oddly shaped, with claw feet and hollow

mouldings. Rich garlands of flowers, beautifully designed and carved,

wind over the mirrors and hang down in festoons. On the consoles are

fine china vases. The ground colors are scarlet and white. My

grandmother was a high-spirited, striking brunette, as might be

inferred from her choice of colors. I have found in the drawing-room a

writing-table I remember well; the figures on it used to fascinate me;

it is plaited in graven silver, and was a present from one of the

Genoese Lomellini. Each side of the table represents the occupations

of a different season; there are hundreds of figures in each picture,

and all in relief.

I remained alone for two hours, while old memories rose before me, one

after another, on this spot, hallowed by the death of a woman most

remarkable even among the witty and beautiful Court ladies of Louis

XV.'s day. You know how abruptly I was parted from her, at a day's notice, in

1816. "Go and bid good-bye to your grandmother," said my mother.

The Princess received me as usual, without any display of feeling, and

expressed no surprise at my departure.

"You are going to the convent, dear," she said, "and will see your

aunt there, who is an excellent woman. I shall take care, though, that

they don't make a victim of you; you shall be independent, and able to

marry whom you please." Six months later she died.

Her will had been given into the keeping of

the Prince de Talleyrand, the most devoted of all her old friends. He

contrived, while paying a visit to Mlle. de Chargeboeuf, to intimate

to me, through her, that my grandmother forbade me to take the vows. I

hope, sooner or later, to meet the Prince, and then I shall doubtless

learn more from him.

Thus, sweetheart, if I have found no one in flesh and blood to meet

me, I have comforted myself with the shade of the dear Princess, and

have prepared myself for carrying out one of our pledges, which was,

as you know, to keep each other informed of the smallest details in

our homes and occupations. It makes such a difference to know where

and how the life of one we love is passed. Send me a faithful picture

of the veriest trifles around you, omitting nothing, not even the

sunset lights among the tall trees.

October 19th. It was three in the afternoon when I arrived. About half-past five,

Rose came and told me that my mother had returned, so I went

downstairs to pay my respects to her.