two red, and two orange; as nothing suits
brown complexions better than those colors.
"This done (and I allow you at the utmost only two or three days), you
will depart post in my carriage for Cardoville Manor House, which
you know so well. The steward, the excellent Dupont, one of your old
friends, will there introduce you to a young Indian Prince, named
Djalma; and you will tell that most potent grave, and reverend signior,
of another quarter of the globe, that you have come on the part of an
unknown friend, who, taking upon himself the duty of a brother, sends
him what is necessary to preserve him from the odious fashions
of Europe. You will add, that his friend expects him with so much
impatience that he conjures him to come to Paris immediately. If he
objects that he is suffering, you will tell him that my carriage is an
excellent bed-closet; and you will cause the bedding, etc., which it
contains, to be fitted up, till he finds it quite commodious. Remember
to make very humble excuses for the unknown friend not sending to the
prince either rich palanquins, or even, modestly, a single elephant;
for alas! palanquins are only to be seen at the opera; and there are
no elephants but those in the menagerie,--though this must make us seem
strangely barbarous in his eyes.
"As soon as you shall have decided on your departure, perform the
journey as rapidly as possible, and bring here, into my house, in the
Rue de Babylone (what predestination! that I should dwell in the street
of BABYLON,--a name which must at least accord with the ear of an
Oriental),--you will bring hither, I say, this dear prince, who is so
happy as to have been born in a country of flowers, diamonds, and sun!
"Above all, you will have the kindness, my old and worthy friend, not
to be at all astonished at this new freak, and refrain from indulging in
extravagant conjectures. Seriously, the choice which I have made of you
in this affair,--of you, whom I esteem and most sincerely honor,--is
because it is sufficient to say to you that, at the bottom of all this,
there is something more than a seeming act of folly."
In uttering these last words, the tone of Adrienne was as serious and
dignified as it had been previously comic and jocose. But she quickly
resumed, more gayly, dictating to Georgette.
"Adieu, my old friend. I am something like that commander of ancient
days, whose heroic nose and conquering chin you have so often made me
draw: I jest
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