"Very good," answered she; "_au troisieme_; that means, on the third floor. Now try."

"O tror--Otrorsy--O trorsy--Oh! dear me!" muttered he in a tone of despair.

"_eme_," said Mrs. P.

"Aim," said he.

"Well?" said Mrs. P.

"O trorsyaim," said he.

"That's very well, indeed!" said Mrs. Potiphar, and they went out of the room. I joined them in the hall, and we ran on before Mr. P., but we soon heard some one speaking, and stopped.

"_Monsieur, veut il prendre un commissionaire?_"

"Kattery--vang--sank," replied Mr. Potiphar, with great emphasis.

"_Comment?_" said the other.

"O tror--O tror--Oh! Polly--seeaim--seeaim!" returned Mr. P.

"You speak English," said the commissionaire.

"Why! good G.o.d! do _you?_" asked Mr. P., with astonishment.

"I speaks every languages, sare," replied the other, "and we will use the English, if you please. But Monsieur speaks _tres bien_ the French language."

"Are you speaking English now?" asked Mr. Potiphar.

The commissionaire answered him that he was,--and Mr. P. thrust his arm through that of the commissionaire and said--

"My dear sir, if you are disengaged I should be very glad if you would accompany me in my walks through the town."

"Mr. Potiphar!" said Polly, "come!"

"Coming, my dear," answered he, as he approached with the commissionaire. It was in vain that Mrs. P. winked and frowned. Her husband would not take hints. So taking his other arm, and wishing the commissionaire good morning, she tried to draw him away. But he clung to his companion and said,

"Polly, this gentleman speaks English."

"Don't keep his arm," whispered she; "he is only a servant."

"Servant, indeed!" said he; "you should have heard him speak French, and you see how gentlemanly he is."

It was some time before Polly was able to make her husband comprehend the case.

"Ah!" said he, at length; "Oh! I understand."

All our first days were full of such little mistakes. Kurz Pacha come regularly to see us, and laughed more than I ever saw him laugh before. The young men were away a great deal, which was hardly kind.

But they said they must call upon their old acquaintances; and Polly and I expected every day to be called upon by their lady friends.

"It's very odd that the friends of these young men don't call upon us," said Mrs. Potiphar to Kurz Pacha; "it would be only civil."

The Amba.s.sador laughed a good deal to himself and then answered,

"But they are not visiting ladies."

"What do you mean," said she.

"Ask Mr. Firkin," replied he.

So when we saw them next, Mrs P. said,

"Mr. Firkin, I remember you used to tell me of the pleasant circles in which you visited in Paris, and how much superior French society is to American."

"Infinitely superior," replied Mr. Firkin.

"Much more _spirituel_," said Mr. Boosey.

"Well," said Mrs. Potiphar, "we are going to stay only a short time to be sure, but we should like very much to see a little good society."

"Ah!" said Mr. Firkin.

"Oh! yes, certainly," said Mr. Boosey; and the corners of his eyelids twitched.

"Perhaps you might suggest that you have some friends staying in town," said Mrs. P. "You know we're all intimate enough for that."

"Yes--oh yes," said Mr. Firkin, slowly; "but the truth is, it's a little awkward. These ladies are kind enough to receive us; but to ask favors of them, is, you see, different."

"Oh! yes," interrupted Mr. Boosey; "to ask favors of them is a very different thing," and his eyes really glistened.

"These are ladies, you see, dear Mrs. Potiphar," said Kurz Pacha, "who don't grant favors."

"But still," continued Mr. Firkin, "if you only wanted to see them, you know, and be able to say at home that you knew Madame la Marquise So-and-so, and Madame la Comtesse So-and-so, and describe their dresses, why, we can manage it well enough; for we are engaged to a little party at the opera this evening with the Countess de Papillon and Madame Casta Diva, two of the best known ladies in Paris. But they never visit."

"How superbly exclusive!" said Mrs. Potiphar; "I wonder how that would do at home! However, I should be glad to see the general air and the toilette, you know. If we were going to pa.s.s the whole winter I would know them of course. But things are different where you stay so short a time. Eh, Kurz Pacha?"

"Very different, Madame. But you are quite right. Make hay while the sun shines; use your eyes if you can't use your tongue. Eyes are great auxiliaries, you can use the tongue afterward. You've no idea how well you can talk about French society if you only go to the opera with a friend who knows people, and to your banker's soirees. If you chose to read a little of Balzac, beside, your knowledge will be complete."

So we agreed to go to the opera. We pa.s.sed the days shopping, and driving in the _Bois de Boulogne_. Sometimes the young men went with us, and D'Orsay Firkin confided to me one of his adventures, which was very romantic. You know how handsome he is, and how excessively gentlemanly, and how the girls were all in love with him last winter at home. Now you needn't say that I was, for you know better. I liked him as a friend. But he told me that he had often seen a girl in one of the shops on the Boulevards watching him very closely. He never pa.s.sed by, but she always saw him, and looked so earnestly at him, that at length he thought he would saunter carelessly into the shop, and ask for some trifle. The moment he entered she fixed her eyes full upon him, and he says they were large and l.u.s.trous, and a little mournful in expression. But he scarcely looked at her, and asked at the opposite counter for a pair of gloves. He tried them on, and in the mirror behind the counter he saw the girl still watching him. After lingering for some time, and looking at everything but the girl, he sauntered slowly out again while her eyes, he said, grew evidently more mournful as she saw him leave without looking at her. Daily, for a week afterwards, he walked by the door, and she was always watching and looking after him with the most eager interest. Mr. Firkin did not say he was sorry for the little French girl, but I know that he really felt so. These men, that every woman falls in love with, are generous, I have always found. And I am sure he would never have confided this little affair to me, except for the very intimate terms upon which we are; for I have heard him say (speaking of other men) that nothing was meaner than for a man to tell of his conquests.

Well, the affair went on, he says, for some days longer. He was, at the time, constantly in attendance upon the Countess de Papillon, but often from the window of her carriage he has remarked the young girl pensively watching him, as she stretched gloves, or tied cravats around the necks of customers. At length he determined to follow the matter up, as he called it, and so marched into the shop one day, and going straight toward the mournful eyes, he asked for a pair of gloves. Mr. Firkin says the French women are so perfectly trained to conceal their emotions, that she did not betray, by any trembling, or turning pale, or stammering, the profound interest she felt for him, but quietly looked in his eyes, and in what Mr. Firkin called "a strain of Siren sweetness," asked what number he wore. He replied with his French _esprit_, as Kurz Pacha calls it, that he thought the size of her hand was about right for him; upon which she smiled in the most bewitching manner, and bringing out a large box of gloves, selected a pair of an exquisite _nuance_, as the French say, you know, and asking him to put out his hand, she proceeded to fit the glove to it, herself. Mr. Firkin remarked, that as she did so, she would raise her eyes to his whenever she found it necessary to press his fingers harder than usual, and when he thought the glove was fairly on, she kept pulling it down, and smoothing it; and finally taking his hand between both of hers, she brought the glove together, b.u.t.toned it, and said, "Monsieur has such a delicate hand," and smiled sweetly. Mr. Firkin said he bought an astonishing number of gloves that morning, and suddenly remembered that he wanted cravats.

Fortunately the new styles had just come in, Marie said (for he had discovered her name), and she opened a dazzling array of silks and satins, and asking him to remove his neckcloth, she wound her hand in a beautiful silk, and throwing her arms, for a little moment, quite around his neck, she tied it in front; her little hands sometimes. .h.i.tting his chin. Then taking him by the hand she led him to a mirror, in which he might survey the effect, while she stood behind him looking into the mirror over his shoulder, her head really quite close to his, and, in her enthusiasm about the set of the cravat, having forgotten to take her hand out of his. He stood a great while before that mirror, trying to discover if it really was a becoming tie. He said he never found so much difficulty in deciding. But Marie decided everything for him, and laid aside piles of cravats, and gloves, and fancy b.u.t.tons, and charms, until he was quite dizzy, and found that he hadn't money enough in his pocket to pay.

"It is nothing," said the trustful Marie, "Monsieur will call again."

Touched by her confidence he has called several times since, and never escapes without paying fifty francs or so. Marie says the _Messieurs Americains_ are princes. They never have smaller change than a Napoleon, and they are not only the most regal of customers but the most polite of gentlemen. Mr. Firkin says he has often seen Frenchmen watching him, as he stood in the shop, with the most quizzical expression, and once or twice he has thought he heard suppressed laughter from a group of the other girls and the French gentlemen.

But it was a mistake, for when he turned, the Frenchmen had the politest expression, and the girls were very busy with the goods. Poor French gentlemen! how they must be annoyed to see foreigners carrying off not only all the gloves, but all the smiles, of the beautiful Maries. It is really pleasant to see Gauche Boosey and D'Orsay Firkin promenade on the Boulevards. They are more superbly dressed than anybody else. They have such coats, and trowsers, and waistcoats, and boots,--"always looking," says Kurz Pacha, "as if they came into a large fortune last evening, and were anxious to advertise the fact this morning." Even the boys in the streets turn to look at them.

Mr. Boosey always buys the pattern shirts, and woollen morning dresses, and fancy coats, that hang in the shop windows. "Then," he says, "I am sure of being at the height of the fashion." Mr. Firkin is more quiet. The true gentleman, he says, is known by the absence of everything _p.r.o.nonce_. "He is a very true gentleman, then," even Kurz Pacha says, "for I have never found anything _p.r.o.nonce_ in Mr. D'Orsay Firkin." The Pacha tells a good story of them. "The week after their arrival Mr. B. appeared in a suit of great splendor. It was a very remarkable coat, and waistcoat, covered with gilt sprigs, and an embroidered shirt-bosom, altogether a fine coronation suit for the king of the Cannibal Islands. Mr. Firkin, as usual, was rigorously gentlemanly, in the quiet way. They walked together up the Boulevards, Mr. B. flashing in the sun, and Mr. F. sombre as a shadow. The whole world turned to remark the extreme gorgeousness of Mr. Boosey's attire, which was peculiar even in Paris. At first that ornament of society rather enjoyed it, but such universal attention became a little wearisome, and at length annoying. Finally Mr. Boosey could endure it no longer, and turning round he stopped Mr. Firkin and looking at him from top to toe, remarked, 'Really I see nothing so peculiar in your dress that the whole town should stop to stare at you' Mr. Boosey is a man of great discrimination," concluded the Amba.s.sador.