Eriphila was under arms, that is, in an amorous deshabillé, and wantonly stretch’d on a couch. The comedian entered with a solemn, haughty, insipid air of a conqueror. With the left hand he waved a plain hat with a white feather in it, and caressed his nostrils and upper lip with the tops of the fingers of his right hand, a very theatrical gesture, which was admired by Connoisseurs. His bow was cavalier, and his compliment familiar. “Oh! my queen,” cried he, in an affected tone, stooping to Eriphila, “what a trim you are in! But do you know that in that careless garb you are adorable.”

The tone of this scoundrel shock’d Mangogul. The prince was young, and might possibly be ignorant of certain customs⁠—“Then you like me, my dear,” answered Eriphila. “To ravishment, I tell you.”

“That gives me great joy. I wish you would repeat that passage which raised such emotions in me a while ago. That passage⁠—there⁠—yes⁠—it is that same⁠—How seducing a rogue he is?⁠—But go on; that moves me strangely.”