And in the little closed shop behind the heavy moucharabi, now that they all had gone, the exhalations of the _flowers_ arose; pungent, concerted odours, expressive of natural antipathies and feuds, suave alliances, suffering, pride, and joy.... Only the shining moon through the moucharabi, illumining here a lily, there a leaf, may have guessed what they were saying:
“My wires are hurting me: my wires are hurting me.”
“I have no water. I cannot reach the water.”
“They have pushed me head down into the bottom of the bowl.”
“I’m glad I’m in a Basket! No one will hurl _me_ from a window to be bruised under foot by the callous crowd.”
“It’s uncomfy, isn’t it, without one’s roots?”
“You Weed you! You, you, you ... _buttercup_! How dare you to _an Orchid_!”
“I shouldn’t object to sharing the same water with him, dear.... Ordinary as he is! If _only_ he wouldn’t smell....”
“She’s nothing but a piece of common grass and so I tell her!”
When upon the tense pent atmosphere surged a breath of cooler air, and through the street-door slipped the Duchess of Varna.
Overturning a jar of great heavy-headed Gladioli with a crash, she sailed, with a purposeful step, towards the till.
Garbed in black and sleepy citrons, she seemed, indeed, to be equipped for a long, long Voyage, and was clutching, in her arms, a pet Poodle dog, and a levant-covered case, in which, doubtless, reposed her jewels.
Since her rupture with Madame Wetme (both the King and Queen had refused to receive her), the money _ennuis_ of the Duchess had become increasingly acute. Tormented by tradespeople, dunned and bullied by creditors, menaced, mortified, insulted--an offer to “star” in the _rôle_ of _A Society Thief_ for the cinematograph had particularly shocked her--the inevitable hour to quit the Court so long foreseen had come. And now with her departure definitely determined upon, the Duchess experienced an insouciance of heart unknown to her assuredly for many a year. Replenishing her reticule with quite a welcome sheaf of the elegant little banknotes of Pisuerga, one thing only remained to do, and taking pen and paper, she addressed to the Editor of the _Intelligence_ the supreme announcement:--“_The Duchess of Varna has left for Dateland_.”