That infernal bore held one of my dwarfs by the ear, and, showing him to Madame de Fersen, said, "Here, madame, is one of the monsters of the Middle Ages."
Then, on a sign from the prince that the master of the house was present, Du Pluvier turned around, and looked at me.
I trembled, for I knew that he recognised me.
It would be impossible to depict Du Pluvier's astonishment; his eyes rolled in his head, he stretched forward his arms, and, stepping towards me, cried out:
"What! are you here, my dear Arthur? You! disguised as a Mamamouchi! This is a strange meeting! Why, I have not seen you since the first representation of 'The Comte d'Ory' at the Opéra. You were there with Madame de Pënâfiel."
The prince, his wife, the interpreter, and some Russian officers who accompanied the ambassador, all of whom understood French perfectly well, were quite as much surprised as Du Pluvier. Madame de Fersen looked at me curiously, but could not refrain from smiling.
I bit my lips, cursing my costume, Daphné, and, above all, Du Pluvier, whom I wished the devil might take. He kept on with his protestations of friendship, while all eyes were fixed on us.
I had either to stick to my rôle of Albanian, and let Du Pluvier pass for a fool, or to admit my foolish disguisement.
I bravely chose the latter course.
I rose, and went respectfully to bow to Madame de Fersen, and beg her pardon for having for an instant deceived her. I frankly admitted that, caught in the act of playing the Oriental, I had preferred to be taken for an Albanian, than for a silly Frenchman.