Aura Mugler 2017 Eau de Parfum

The young lady sits on the new wicker chair. Her hand, with the scratchy feather, flies over the handmade paper as if by magic. Her heart is beating fast, she has to hurry, her maid will be back soon. She presses another languorous kiss on the paper and hides the letter between the lace flounces of her dress. She looks out of the window. The lush green of the arbors edges around the windows. The afternoon sun shines through the foliage and plays with it. She has to hurry.

Her hat with the silk cloth, lightly on her shoulders as she walks with her maid through the park to the patisserie. At the Geissblattlaube she stops, bends to her shoes to secretly push the letter under the old flowerpot. Only she and her dearest know the place.
The evening the lights are on in the park. Couples, accompanied by their servants stroll along the paths and talk quietly with each other. A young man, walks quickly towards the honeysuckle arbor. He bends down and his heart beats wildly as he finds the small folded letter from his beloved. He takes it, his heart beating wildly, he smells the paper. There it is - her scent. As fresh as the early summer morning on the east side of the house. Where the orchard begins. Where the little lilies of the valley and violets stand. It reminds him of the vanilla scent of her hair that always blows in his face when he loosens her hair ribbon at the picnic. ..... tomorrow is Sunday .... He doesn't want to wait any longer. Tomorrow he will ask for her hand free.

.... And if they have not died, they sit under the geissblattlaube, hold hands and tell of their youth.