`` This rose , '' said Dr. Heidegger , with a sigh -- `` this same withered and crumbling flower -- blossomed five and fifty years ago . It was given me by Sylvia Ward , whose portrait hangs yonder , and I meant to wear it in my bosom at our wedding . Five and fifty years it has been treasured between the leaves of this old volume . Now , would you deem it possible that this rose of half a century could ever bloom again ? '' `` Nonsense ! '' said the widow Wycherly , with a peevish toss of her head . `` You might as well ask whether an old woman 's wrinkled face could ever bloom again . '' `` See ! '' answered Dr. Heidegger . He uncovered the vase and threw the faded rose into the water which it contained . At first it lay lightly on the surface of the fluid , appearing to imbibe none of its moisture . Soon , however , a singular change began to be visible . The crushed and dried petals stirred and assumed a deepening tinge of crimson , as if the flower were reviving from a deathlike slumber , the slender stalk and twigs of foliage became green , and there was the rose of half a century , looking as fresh as when Sylvia Ward had first given it to her lover . It was scarcely full-blown , for some of its delicate red leaves curled modestly around its moist bosom , within which two or three dewdrops were sparkling . `` That is certainly a very pretty deception , '' said the doctor 's friends -- carelessly , however , for they had witnessed greater miracles at a conjurer 's show . `` Pray , how was it effected ? '' `` Did you never hear of the Fountain of Youth ? '' asked Dr. Heidegger , `` which Ponce de Leon , the Spanish adventurer , went in search of two or three centuries ago ? '' `` But did Ponce de Leon ever find it ? '' said the widow Wycherly .
`` No , '' answered Dr. Heidegger , `` XXXXX he never sought it in the right place .
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