Pink! Pink, my love. And a pink like you had never imagined. An explosion of pink. Dark pink on the outside, but nothing that made our house look audacious and frivolous in any manner. A simple sign above the door: 'Flowers. Orders for All Occasions.' The window arrangements were adorable, as pretty as a picture, trinkets and flowers, a profusion of good taste and femininity, the perfect way to catch a coquette's eye, or a gallant gentleman in search of a becoming boutonniere. And inside, my dear, pink wallpaper, the latest rage! It looked magnificent. And so enticing.
I knew nothing about flowers, and neither did you, and Madame Colleville's humdrum taste certainly hadn't taught us anything. The shop brimmed over with flowers, the loveliest flowers I had ever seen: divine roses of the most unbelievable hues, magenta, crimson, gold, ivory; gorgeous peonies with heavy, droopy heads, and the smell in that place, my love, the intoxicating, dreamy perfume that lingered there...
I stood, entranced, my hands clasped. Like a little girl. Once again, she glanced at me, unsmiling, but I caught a twinkle in those astute eyes. And then it seemed to me that her lips were quivering with amusement
'So my landlady approves of the pink?' she murmured, rearranging bouquets with quick, deft fingers.
'It is lovely, mademoiselle,' I mumbled. 'Lovely pink.'
from The House I Loved, by Tatiana de Rosnay