"Give me the keys," returned Sylvie.
"Nonsense," cried her aunt; "the drawers are open." "No; there is one always locked." While the good woman was cleaning the frying-pan, after having passed it over the fire to warm it, Sylvie unfastened from her belt a little key of wrought steel and showed it to me in triumph.
I followed her swiftly up the wooden staircase that led to the room above. Oh youth, and holy age! Who could sully by an evil thought the purity of first love in this shrine of hallowed memories? The portrait of a young man of the good old times, with laughing black eyes and rosy lips, hung in an oval gilt frame at the head of the rustic bed. He wore the uniform of a gamekeeper of the house of Condé; his somewhat martial bearing, ruddy, good-humoured face, and powdered hair drawn back from the clear brow, gave the charm of youth and simplicity to this pastel, destitute, perhaps, of any artistic merit Some obscure artist, bidden to the hunting parties of the prince, had done his best to portray the keeper and his bride who appeared in another medallion, arch and winning, in her open bodice laced with ribbons, teasing with piquant frown, a bird perched upon her finger. It was, however, the same good old dame, at that moment bending over the hearth-fire to cook. It reminded me of the fairies in a spectacle who hide under wrinkled masks, their real beauty revealed in the closing scene when the Temple of Love appears with its whirling sun darting magic fires.
"Oh, dear old aunt!" I exclaimed, "how pretty you were!"
"And I?" asked Sylvie, who had succeeded in opening the famous drawer which contained an old-fashioned dress of taffeta, so stiff that the heavy folds creaked under her touch. "I will see if it fits me," she said; "I shall look like an old fairy!" "Like the fairy of the legends, ever young," thought I.
Sylvie had already unfastened her muslin gown and let it fall to her feet. She bade me hook the rich robe which clung tightly to her slender figure.
"Oh, what ridiculous sleeves!" she cried; and yet, the lace frills displayed to advantage her bare arms, and her bust was outlined by the corsage of yellow tulle and faded ribbon which had concealed but little the vanished charms of her aunt.
"Come, make haste!" said Sylvie. "Do you not know how to hook a dress?" She looked like the village bride of Greuze. "You ought to have some powder," said I. "We will find some," and she turned to search the drawers anew. Oh! what treasures, what sweet odours, what gleams of light from brilliant hues and modest ornaments! Two mother-of-pearl fans slightly broken, some pomade boxes covered with Chinese designs, an amber necklace and a thousand trifles, among them two little white slippers with sparkling buckles of Irish diamonds. "Oh! I will put them on," cried Sylvie, "if I find the embroidered stockings."
A moment more, and we were unrolling a pair of pink silk stockings with green clocks; but the voice of the old aunt, accompanied by the hiss of the frying-pan, suddenly recalled us to reality. "Go down quickly," said Sylvie, who refused to let me help her finish dressing. Her aunt was just turning into a platter the contents of the frying-pan, a slice of bacon and some eggs. Presently, I heard Sylvie calling me from the staircase. "Dress yourself as soon as possible," and, completely attired herself, she pointed to the wedding clothes of the gamekeeper, spread out upon the chest. In an instant I was transformed into a bridegroom of the last century. Sylvie waited for me on the stairs, and we went down, arm in arm. Her aunt gave a cry when she saw us. "Oh, my children!" she exclaimed, beginning to weep and then smiling through her tears. It was the image of her own youth, a cruel, yet charming vision. We sat beside her, touched, almost saddened, but soon our mirth came back, for after the first surprise, the thoughts of the good old dame reverted to the stately festivities of her wedding day. She even recalled the old-fashioned songs chanted responsively from one end of the festal board to the other, and the quaint nuptial hymn whose strains attended the wedded pair when they withdrew after the dance. We repeated these couplets with their simple rhymes, flowery and passionate as the Song of Solomon. We were bride and bridegroom the space of one fair summer morn.