He went with us to the opera, where we were to see the Countess de Papillon and Madame Casta Diva. The house was full, and the young gentlemen had told us where to look for their box. Mrs. Potiphar had made Mr. P. as presentable as possible, and begged the Sennaar Minister to see that Mr. P. did not talk too loud, nor go to sleep, nor offend the proprieties in any way; especially to cut off all his attempts at speaking French. She had hired the most expensive box.
"People respect money, my dear," said Mrs. Potiphar to me.
"But not always its owners, my dear," whispered Kurz Pacha in my other ear.
When we entered the box all the glasses in the house were levelled at us. Mrs. Potiphar gayly seated herself in the best seat, nodding and chatting with the Ambassador; her diamonds glittering, her brocade glistening, her fan waving, while I slipped into the seat opposite, and Mr. Potiphar stood behind me in a dazzling expanse of white waistcoat, and his glass in his eye, as Mrs. P. had taught him.
"A very successful entree" whispered the Pacha to Mrs. P. "I shall give out to my friends that it is the heiress presumptive of the Comanchees."
"No, really; what is the Comanchees?" said Polly levelling her glass all round the house, and laughing, and talking, and rustling, as if she were very, very happy.
Suddenly there was a fresh volley of glasses towards our box, and, to our perfect dismay, we turned and saw that Mr. Potiphar had advanced to the front, and having put down his eye-glass, had taken out his old, round, silver-barred spectacles, and was deliberately wiping them with that great sheet of a hideous red bandanna, "prepartory to an exhaustive survey of the house," whispered Kurz Pacha to me.
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.
