Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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fashion, taking, every now and then, a pull from the wine-jar, which was cooling
deliciously in another jar of snow.
I was just in the act of despatching the last morsel of a most savory stewed lamb and rice,
which had formed my meal, when I heard a scuffle of feet, a shrill clatter of female voices,
and, the curtain being flung open, in marched a lady accompanied by twelve slaves, with
moon faces and slim waists, lovely as the houris in Paradise.
The lady herself, to do her justice, was as great a contrast to her attendants as could
possibly be: she was crooked, old, of the complexion of molasses, and rendered a thousand
times more ugly by the tawdry dress and the blazing jewels with which she was covered. A
line of yellow chalk drawn from her forehead to the tip of her nose (which was further
ornamented by an immense glittering nose-ring), her eyelids painted bright red, and a large
dab of the same color on her chin, showed she was not of the Mussulman, but the Brahmin
faith—and of a very high caste; you could see that by her eyes. My mind was
instantaneously made up as to my line of action.
The male attendants had of course quitted the apartment, as they heard the well-known
sound of her voice. It would have been death to them to have remained and looked in her
face. The females ranged themselves round their mistress, as she squatted down opposite to
me.
"And is this," said she, "a welcome, O Khan! after six months' absence, for the most
unfortunate and loving wife in all the world? Is this lamb, O glutton! half so tender as thy
spouse? Is this wine, O sot! half so sweet as her looks?"
I saw the storm was brewing—her slaves, to whom she turned, kept up a kind of chorus:—
"Oh, the faithless one!" cried they. "Oh, the rascal, the false one, who has no eye for
beauty, and no heart for love, like the Khanum's!"
"A lamb is not so sweet as love," said I gravely: "but a lamb has a good temper; a wine-cup
is not so intoxicating as a woman—but a wine-cup has NO TONGUE, O Khanum Gee!"
and again I dipped my nose in the soul-refreshing jar.
The sweet Puttee Rooge was not, however, to be put off by my repartees; she and her
maidens recommenced their chorus, and chattered and stormed until I lost all patience.
"Retire, friends," said I, "and leave me in peace."
"Stir, on your peril!" cried the Khanum.