The Potiphar Papers Part 9

And he was gone. The ball was breaking up. A few desperate dancers still floated upon the floor. The chairs were empty. The women were shawling, and the men stood attendant with bouquets. I went to a window and looked out. The moon was rising, a wan, waning moon. The broad fields lay dark beneath, and as the music ceased, I heard the sullen roar of the sea. If my heart ached with an indefinite longing,--if it felt that the airy epicurism of the Pacha was but a sad cynicism, masquerading in smiles,--if I dreaded to ask whether the wisest were not the saddest,--if the rising moon, and the plunging sea, and the silence of midnight, were mournful, if I envied Daisy Clover her sweet sleep and vigorous waking,--why, no one need ever know it, nor suspect that the brilliant Minerva Tattle is a failure.

V. -- THE POTIPHARS IN PARIS.

A LETTER FROM MISS CAROLINE PETt.i.tOES TO MRS. SETTUM DOWNE.

PARIS, _October_.

MY DEAR MRS. DOWNE,--Here we are at last! I can hardly believe it. Our coming was so sudden that it seems like a delightful dream. You know at Mrs. Potiphar's supper last August in Newport, she was piqued by Gauche Boosey's saying, in his smiling, sarcastic way:

"What! do you really think this is a pretty supper? Dear me!

Mrs. Potiphar, you ought to see one of our _pet.i.ts soupers_ in Paris, hey Croesus?" and then he and Mr. Timon Croesus lifted their brows knowingly, and smiled, and glanced compa.s.sionately around the table.

"Paris, Paris!" cried Mrs. Potiphar; "you young men are always talking about Paris, as if it were heaven. Oh! Mr. P., do take me to Paris. Let's make up a party, and slip over. It's so easy now, you know. Come, come, Pot. I know you won't deny me. Just for two or three months, The truth is," said she, turning to D'Orsay Firkin, who wore that evening the loveliest s.h.i.+rt-bosom I ever saw, "I want to send home some patterns of new dresses to Minerva Tattle."

They all laughed, and in the midst Kurz Pacha, who was sitting at the side of Mrs. Potiphar, inquired:

"What colors suit the Indian summer best, Mrs. Potiphar?"

"Well, a kind of misty color," said Boosey, laughingly, and emphasizing _missed_, as if he meant some pun upon the word.

"Which conceals the outline of the landscape," interrupted Mrs. Gnu.

"Cajoling you with a sense of warmth on the very edge of winter, eh?"

asked the Sennaar minister.

Another loud laugh rang round the table.

"I thought Minerva Tattle was a friend of yours, Kurz Pacha," said Mrs. Gnu, smiling mischievously, and playing with her beautiful bouquet, which Mrs. Potiphar told me Timon Croesus had sent her.

"Certainly, so she is," replied he. "Miss Minerva and I understand each other perfectly. I like her society immensely. The truth is, I am always better in autumn; the air is both cool and bright."

As he said this he looked fixedly at Mrs. Gnu, and there was not quite so much laughing. I am sure I don't know what they meant by talking about autumn. I was busy talking with Mr. Firkin about Daisy Clover's pretty morning dress at the Bowling Alley, and admiring his s.h.i.+rt-bosom. Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and an exquisite bouquet was handed in for Kurz Pacha.

"Why didn't you wait until to-morrow?" said he, sharply.

The man stammered some excuse, and the amba.s.sador took the flowers. Mrs. Gnu looked at them closely, and praised them very much, and quietly glanced at her own, which were really splendid. Kurz Pacha showed them to all the ladies at table, and then handed them to Mrs. Potiphar, saying to her, as he half looked at Mrs. Gnu:

"There is nothing autumnal here."

"Mrs. Potiphar thanked him with real delight, and he turned toward Mrs. Gnu, at whom he had been constantly looking, and who was playing placidly with her bouquet, and said with an air of one paying a great compliment:

"To offer _you_ a bouquet, madame, would be to throw pearls before swine."

We were all silent for a moment, and then the young men sprang up together, while we women laughed, half afraid.

"Good heavens! Kurz Pacha, what do you mean?" cried Mrs. Potiphar.

"Mean?" answered he, evidently confused, and blus.h.i.+ng; "why, I'm afraid I have made some mistake. I meant to say something very polite, but my English sometimes gives way."

"Your impudence never does," muttered Mrs. Gnu, who was unbecomingly red in the face.

"My dear madame," said the minister to her, "I a.s.sure you I meant only to use a proverb in a complimentary way; but somehow I have got the wrong pig by the ear."

There was another burst of laughter. The young men fairly lay down and screamed. Mr. Potiphar exploded in great ha ha's and ho ho's, from the end of the table.

"Mrs. Potiphar," said Mrs. Gnu, with dignity, "I didn't suppose I was to be insulted at your table."

And she went toward the door.

"Mrs. Gnu, Mrs. Gnu," said Polly, smothering her laughter as well as she could, "don't go. Kurz Pacha will explain. I'm sure he means no insult."

Here she burst out laughing again; while the poor Sennaar Amba.s.sador stood erect, and utterly confounded by what was going on.

"I'm sure--I didn't know--I didn't--I wouldn't--Mrs. Gnu knows;" said he, in the greatest embarra.s.sment. "I beg your pardon sincerely, madame." And he looked so humble and repentant that I was really sorry for him; but I saw Mr. Firkin laughing afresh every time he looked at the Amba.s.sador, as if he saw something sly behind his penitence.

"Perhaps," said Firkin at last, "Kurz Pacha means to say that to offer flowers to a lady who has already so beautiful a bouquet, would be to carry coals to Newcastle."

"That is it," cried the Pacha; "to Newcastle,"--and he bowed to Mrs. Gnu.

"Come, Mrs. Gnu, it's only a mistake," said Mrs. Potiphar.

But Mrs. Gnu looked rather angry still, although Gauche Boosey tried very hard to console her, saying as many _bon mots_ as he could think of--and you know how witty he is. He said at last;

"Why is Mrs. Gnu like Rachel?"

"Rachel who?" asked I. -- I'm sure it was an innocent question; but they all fell to laughing again, and Mr. Firkin positively cried with fun.

"D'ye give it up?" asked Mr. Boosey.

"Yes," said Mrs. Potiphar.

"Why, because she will not be comforted."

There wasn't half so much laughing at this as at my question--although Mrs. Potiphar said it was capital, and I thought so too, when I found out who Rachel was.

But Mrs. Gnu continued to be like Rachel, and Mr. Boosey continued to try to amuse her. I think it was very hard she wouldn't be amused by such a funny man; and he said at last aloud to her, meaning all of us to hear:

"Well, Mrs. Gnu, upon my honor, it is no epicure to try to console you."

She did laugh at this, however, and so did the others.

"Have you ever been in Sennaar, Mr. Boosey?" said Kurz Pacha.

"No; why?"