Mrs. P. wouldn’t betray any emotion, but still smiling, she hissed to him, under her breath:
“Mr. P., get back this minute. Don’t make a fool of yourself. Mais, monsieur, c’est vraiment charmant.”
The latter sentence was addressed with smiles to the Ambassador, as she saw that the neighbor in the next box was listening.
“It’s uncommonly warm,” said Mr. Potiphar in a loud tone, as he wiped his forehead with the bandanna.
“Yes, I observe that Mrs. Potiphar betrays the heat in her face,” said the Pacha, “which however, is merely a becoming carnation, Madame,” concluded he, sinking his voice, and rubbing his hands.
At that moment in the box opposite, I saw our friends, Mr. Boosey and Mr. Firkin. By their sides sat two such handsome women! They wore a great quantity of jewelry, and had the easiest, most smiling faces you ever saw. They entered making a great noise, and I could see that the modesty of our friends kept them in the rear. For they seemed almost afraid of being seen.
“I like that,” said Kurz Pacha; “it shows that such stern republicans don’t intend ever to appear delighted with the smiles of nobility.”
“The largest one is Madame la Marquise Casta Diva,” said Mrs. Potiphar, scanning them carefully, “I know her by her patrician air. What a splendid thing blood is, to be sure!”
She gave herself several minutes to study the toilette of the lady, while I looked at the younger lady, Countess de Papillon, who had all kinds of little fluttering ends of ribbons, and laces, and scallops, and ruffles, and was altogether so stylish!
“I see now where Mr. Firkin gets his elegant manners,” said Mrs. Potiphar; “it is a great privilege for young Americans to be admitted familiarly into such society. I now understand better the tone of their conversation when they refer to the French Salons.”