Royal Iris

DESCRIPTION

In her graceful eye, every sweetness was written.

Freshly bloomed, the iris, flower of one moment, could be seen hidden in her amber-blonde hair. When she smiled, her whole face reflected a mimosa light, seemingly from elsewhere, that all eyes could not help admiring.

Her cashmere grace looks like a defiance; her gestures were so simple and so right that putting her nobility in everything, whatever she did, her humblest finery seemed majestic. Her perfume, that zephyr with its sweet and enchanting shades, is that of the new intoxication of embraces. She knew how to captivate this iris: she illuminated it and it returned her well.

In the wind of her musky petticoats, passions rose up. The seeds of ambrette let themselves be guessed and, with their delicate waves, moved all hearts.

A sensation, an image, that of the delicate pompom that she dipped in her rice powder, whose sparkles bloomed on her rosy cheeks, which gave her this old-fashioned charm.

The local men knelt to please her, and when they saw her coming, they ran to meet her.

She laughed, feeling the fervour of their eyes, and then went on her way, quiet and light.

Wherever she wandered, it was the seductive mark of her feathery perfume that she left.

It was said far and wide that once one had encountered her wake, one remained attached to her for the rest of one life.