"Kiss your aunt Eudoxia!"
At this injunction I forthwith embraced my aunt, and I must admit that as I kissed her I could not repress a smile, recollecting this sacramental phrase of my uncle's.
"My goodness! is that André?" she exclaimed, "Oh! excuse me, sir," she continued rapidly; "this familiar name slipped from my tongue, at remembrance of the bonny boy of old times."
"Pray take it for granted, madam!" I answered.
"Then don't call me madam!"
"What does that matter, my aunt; to obey you I shall be delighted to return to old times."
"Very well then, my nephew," she added; "see that my servants are looked after, and then let us come in!"
All this was said in that free-and-easy tone which denotes aristocratic breeding, and with so much of the assurance of a woman accustomed to the best society, that I was for a moment almost taken aback by it. My early impressions of her had only left in my mind confused recollections of an amiable and fascinating young woman (so far as I could judge at that age), and now my aunt suddenly appeared in a character which I had not at all anticipated. Assuredly I should never have recognised her, although time had not at all impaired the beauty of her face.
I will therefore draw her portrait afresh. Picture to yourself a woman of about thirty-five, although her real age is forty-two. Her figure exhibits a decided embonpoint, but this detracts not in the least from its gracefulness, for she is a tall woman, and has also quite a patrician style about her. Her erect head, and the profound dignity of her expression—everything about her in fact—might be taken to denote a haughty nature, were it not for that extreme simplicity of manner which appears natural to her. Notwithstanding the firmness of her language, the tone in which it is uttered is as soft as velvet, and her light, musical accent suggests the frank and easy bearing of a Russian lady of high rank.
Such is the description of my aunt.