Part 48 (2/2)

Paul felt it strongly enough, and was disgusted with his own stupidity.

Of what use was it that during so many years he had cultivated the art of conversation as a necessary accomplishment, if at his utmost need his wits were to abandon him, and leave him uncouth and taciturn as he had been in his childhood? He looked at Hermione's downcast face; at the perfect figure displayed by her tightly fitting costume of gray; at her small hands, as she stood still and tried to thrust the point of her dainty parasol into the crevice between two stones of the pavement. He gazed at her, and was seized with a very foolish desire to take her up in his arms and walk away with her, whether she liked it or not. But just at that moment Hermione glanced at him with a smile, not at all as he had expected that she would look.

”I think we had better go back to the shop,” said she. So they turned, and walked slowly towards the narrow door.

”These Orientals are so full of wonderful imagery!” Chrysophrasia was saying to Professor Cutter as the pair came in. ”It is delightful to hear them talk,--so different from an English shopkeeper.”

”Very,” a.s.sented the learned man. ”Their imagery is certainly remarkable. Their scale of prices seems to be founded upon it, as logarithms depend for their existence on the square root of minus one, an impossible quant.i.ty.”

”Dear me! Could you explain that to Marchetto? It might make a difference, you know.”

”I am afraid not,” answered the professor gravely. ”Marchetto is not a mathematician; are you, Marchetto?”

”No surr, Effendim. Marchetto very honest man. Twenty-five pounds, lady--ah! but it is birindji--there is not a Pacha in Stamboul”----

”You have said that before,” observed the scientist, ”Try and say something new.”

”New!” cried Marchetto. ”It is not new. Any one say it new, he lie!

Old--eski, eski! Very old! Twenty-five-six pounds, lady! Hein! Pacha give more.”

”I fear that the traditions of his race are very strong,” remarked Chrysophrasia, languidly examining the embroidery, a magnificent piece of work, about a yard and a half square, wrought in gold and silver threads upon a dark-red velvet ground; evidently of considerable antiquity, but in excellent preservation. ”Paul, dear,” continued Miss Dabstreak, seeing Patoff enter with Hermione, ”what would you give for this lovely thing? How hard it is to bargain! How low! How infinitely fatiguing! Do help me!”

”Begin by offering him a quarter of what he asks,--that is a safe rule,”

answered Paul.

”How much is a quarter of twenty-five--let me see--three times eight are--do tell me, somebody! Figures drive me quite mad.”

”I have known of such cases,” a.s.sented the professor. ”Eight and a quarter, Miss Dabstreak. Say eight,--I dare say it will do as well.”

”Marchetto,” said Chrysophrasia sadly, ”I am afraid your embroidery is only worth eight pounds.”

The Jew was kneeling on the floor, squatting upon his heels. He put on an injured expression, and looked up at Miss Dabstreak's face.

”Eight pounds!” he exclaimed, in holy horror. ”You know where this come from, lady? Ha! Laleli Khanum house--dead--no more like it.” Marchetto of course knew the story of Alexander's confinement, and by a ready lie turned it to his advantage. Every one looked surprised, and began to examine the embroidery more closely.

”Really!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Chrysophrasia. ”How strange this little world is!

To think of all this bit of broidered velvet has seen,--what joyous sights! It may have been in the very room where she died. But she was a wicked old woman, Marchetto. I could not give more than eight pounds for anything which belonged to so depraved a creature.”

”Hein?” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Jew, with a soft smile. ”I know what you want.

Here!” he exclaimed, springing up, and rummaging among his shelves.

Presently he brought out a shabby old green cloth caftan, trimmed with a little tarnished silver lace, and held it up triumphantly to Chrysophrasia's sight.

”Twenty-five-six pounds!” he cried, exultingly. ”Cheap. Him coat of very big saint-man--die going to Mecca last year. Cheap, lady--twenty-five-six pounds!”

”I think you are fairly caught, aunt Chrysophrasia,” observed Paul, with a laugh.

”Who would have guessed that there was so much humor in an Israelite?”

<script>