As soon as she was tall enough, Ilsée took up the habit of standing before her looking glass every morning and saying, “Good morning, my little Ilsée.” Then she would kiss the cold glass and frown. The image only seemed to approach her. In reality, it was very far away. The other, paler Ilsée, who rose from the depths of the mirror, was a prisoner with frozen lips. Ilsée pitied her, for she seemed sad and cruel. Her smile in the morning was a pale dawn stained by the horror of night.
Nevertheless, Ilsée loved her and spoke to her: “Nobody says good morning to you, poor little Ilsée. Kiss me, there you go. We’ll go for a walk today, Ilsée. And my love will come find us. Come on now.” When Ilsée turned away, the other Ilsée, melancholy, would steal away into the luminous shadows.
Ilsée showed off her dolls and dresses. “Play with me. Get dressed with me.” The other Ilsée, jealous, also held up to Ilsée whiter dolls and discolored dresses. She never spoke, and only moved her lips at the same time as Ilsée.
Sometimes, like a child, Ilsée got annoyed with the mute lady, who got annoyed in turn. “Wicked, wicked Ilsée!” she cried. “Speak to me! Kiss me!” Then she would strike the mirror with her hand. A strange disembodied hand appeared before her own. Ilsée was never able to reach the other Ilsée.
At night she would forgive her; and happy to find her again, she would jump from her bed to kiss her, murmuring, “Good morning, my little Ilsée.”
When Ilsée found a true fiancé, she brought him before her looking glass, and said to the other Ilsée: “Look at my lover, but don’t look at him too much. He’s mine, but I want you to see him. Once we’re married, I’ll let him kiss you with me every morning.” The fiancé began to laugh. Ilsée, in the mirror, smiled as well. “Isn’t he handsome? And don’t I love him?” Ilsée said. “Of course, of course,” replied the other Ilsée. “If you look at him too much, I won’t kiss you anymore,” said Ilsée. “I’m just as jealous as you are. Go on now, goodbye, my little Ilsée.”
The more Ilsée learned of love, the sadder Ilsée in the mirror grew. For her friend no longer came to kiss her in the morning. She seemed to have forgotten her completely. Instead, after the night, the image of her fiancé would run to Ilsée when she awoke. In the daytime, Ilsée no longer saw the lady in the mirror when her fiancé was looking at her. “Oh,” said Ilsée, “you’re wicked, you don’t think of me anymore. It’s the other one you look at. She’s a prisoner; she’ll never come. She’s jealous that I have you; but I’m more jealous than she. Don’t look at her, my love; look at me. Wicked Ilsée in the mirror, I forbid you to so much as speak to my fiancé. You can’t come; you will never be able to come. Don’t take him away from me, wicked Ilsée. Once we’re married, I’ll let him kiss you with me. Laugh, Ilsée. You’ll be with us.”
Ilsée grew jealous of the other Ilsée. If night fell without the return of her beloved: “You’re driving him away,” Ilsée would cry. “You’re driving him away with your nasty face! Leave, wicked girl. Let us be.”
And Ilsée hid her mirror behind a sheet of fine, white linen. She lifted up a flap to drive in the last little nail. “Goodbye, Ilsée,” she said.
Yet her fiancé continued to seem weary. “He no longer loves me,” thought Ilsée. “He no longer comes to my side, and I’m alone now, so alone. Where has the other Ilsée gone? Did she leave with him?” With her little golden scissors, she slit the fabric to see. The mirror was blanketed by a white shadow.
“She’s gone,” thought Ilsée.
“I must,” said Ilsée to herself, “be very patient. The other Ilsée will be jealous and sad. My love will return. I’ll be able to wait for him.”
Every morning, on the pillow, beside her face, she seemed to see him in her half-sleep: “Oh, my love,” she murmured. “Have you truly come back? Good morning, good morning, my dear.” She reached her hand forth and touched the cool sheet.
“I must,” Ilsée said again, “be very patient.”
Ilsée waited a long time for her fiancé. Her patience melted away into tears. A moist fog enveloped her eyes. Wet lines ran through her cheeks. Her whole face was hollowing out. Every day, every month, every year wore her body down with a heavier hand.
“Oh, my love,” said Ilsée. “I’ve come to doubt you.”
She cut the white linen in the center of the mirror, and in the pale frame appeared the looking glass, full of dark stains. The mirror was furrowed with bright wrinkles, and pools of shadow had developed where the silvering had separated from the glass.
The other Ilsée rose from the depths of the looking glass, dressed in black, like Ilsée, her face gaunt, pocked by the strange signs of the glass that no longer reflected amidst the reflective glass. And the mirror seemed to have wept.
“You’re sad, like me,” said Ilsée.
The lady in the mirror was weeping. Ilsée kissed her and said, “Good evening, my poor Ilsée.”
And walking into her room with a lamp in her hand, Ilsée was surprised, for the other Ilsée, a lamp in her hand, was approaching her with a mournful gaze. Ilsée lifted her lamp over her head and sat down on her bed. And the other Ilsée lifted her lamp over her head and sat down beside her.
“I understand now,” thought Ilsée. “The lady in the mirror has broken free. She has come to find me. I am going to die.”