The old affair of the kiss recurred to me in spite of
myself. What could my aunt want with me?

I tapped quietly at the door, and heard at once an outburst of stifled
laughter.

"Wait a moment," exclaimed a laughing voice.

"I won't be seen in this state," whispered another--"Yes"--"No"--"You
are absurd, my dear, since it is an affair of art."--"Ha, ha, ha." And
they laughed and laughed again.

At last a voice cried, "Come in," and I turned the handle.

At first glance I could only make out a confused chaos, impossible
to describe, amidst which my aunt was bustling about clad in pink
fleshings. Clad, did I say?--very airily.

The furniture, the carpet, the mantel-piece were encumbered, almost
buried under a heterogeneous mass of things. Muslin petticoats, tossed
down haphazard, pieces of lace, a cardboard helmet covered with gilt
paper, open jewel-cases, bows of ribbon; curling-tongs, half hidden in
the ashes; and on every side little pots, paint-brushes, odds and ends
of all kinds. Behind two screens, which ran across the room, I could
hear whisperings, and the buzzing sound peculiar to women dressing
themselves. In one corner Silvani--the illustrious Silvani, still
wearing the large white apron he assumes when powdering his clients--was
putting away his powder-puff and turning down his sleeves with a
satisfied air. I stood petrified. What was going on at my aunt's?

She discovered my astonishment, and without turning round she said in
agitated tones:

"Ah! is it you, Ernest?" Then as if making up her mind, she broke into a
hearty burst of laughter, like all women who have good teeth, and
added, with a slightly superior air, "You see, we are having private
theatricals."

Then turning toward me with her elegant coiffure powdered to excess,
I could see that her face was painted like that of a priestess of
antiquity. That gauze, that atmosphere, redolent with feminine perfumes,
and behind those screens-behind those screens!

"Women in society," I said to myself, looking about me, "must be mad to
amuse themselves in this fashion."

"And what piece are you going to play, aunt, in such an attractive
costume?"

"Good evening, Captain," called out a laughing voice from behind the
screen on the right.

"We were expecting you," came from behind the screen on the left.

"Good evening, ladies; what can I do for you?"

"It is not a play," observed my aunt, modestly drawing together her
sea-weed draperies. "How b