On the evening of her eighteenth birthday, the old lady had taken a box out of the back of the cupboard. Inside rested an ivory silk dress, adorned with fine lace and small mother-of-pearl buttons. With a look full of sweetness, Rose had whispered to him: "One day, I would like to see you wear this dress. A simple, sincere promise, deposited there like a treasure.
What the lining silently concealed
Years had passed when Thomas had asked her to marry him. Immediately, the memory of this promise had returned to him. When she reopened Rose's wardrobe, which had recently disappeared, she had found the dress in perfect condition. As if the fabric had been patiently waiting for this precise moment.
