I believe there was nothing else injured except the bed-hangings in the back room, which were somehow badly burnt and very much torn in pulling down, and a few of our handsomest shades that were cracked by the heat, and a few plates, which it was hardly fair to expect wouldn’t be broken, and the colored glass door in my _escritoire_, against which Flattie Podge fell as she was dancing with Gauche Boosey; but he may have been a little excited, you know, and she, poor girl, couldn’t help tumbling, and as her head hit the glass, of course, it broke, and cut her head badly, so that the blood ran down and naturally spoiled her dress; and what little _escritoire_ could stand against Flattie Podge? So that went, and was a good deal smashed in falling. That’s all, I think, except that the next day Mrs. Croesus sent a note, saying that she had lost her largest diamond from her necklace, and she was sure that it was not in the carriage, nor in her own house, nor upon the sidewalk, for she had carefully looked everywhere, _and she would be very glad if I would return it by the bearer._ Think of that. Well, we hunted everywhere, and found no diamond. I took particular pains to ask the servants if they had found it, for if they had, they might as well give it up at once, without expecting any reward from Mrs. Croesus, who wasn’t very generous. But they all said they hadn’t found any diamond: and our man John, who you know is so guileless,--although it _was_ a little mysterious about that emerald pin of mine,--brought me a bit of glass that had been nicked out of my large custard dish, and asked me if that was not Mrs. Croesus’s diamond. I told him no, and gave him a gold dollar for his honesty. John is an invaluable servant; he is so guileless. _Do you know I am not so sure about Mrs. Croesus’s diamond!_ Mr. P. made a great howling about the ball. But it was very foolish, for he got safely to bed by six o’clock, and he need have no trouble about replacing the curtains, and glass, etc. I shall do all that, and the sum total will be sent to him in a lump, so that he can pay it. Men are so unreasonable. Fancy us at seven o’clock that morning, when I retired. He wasn’t asleep. But whose fault was that? “Polly,” said he, “that’s the last.” “Last what?” said I. -- “Last ball at my house,” said he. “Fiddle-dee-dee,” said I. -- “I tell you, Mrs. Potiphar, I am not going to open my house for a crowd of people who don’t go away till daylight; who spoil my books and furniture; involve me in a foolish expense; for a gang of rowdy boys, who drink my Margaux, and Lafitte, and Marcobrunner, (what kind of drinks are those, dear Caroline?) and who don’t know Chambertin from liquorice-water,--for a swarm of persons few of whom we know fewer, still care for me, and to whom I am only ‘Old Potiphar,’ the husband of you, a fashionable woman. I am simply resolved to have no more such tomfoolery in my house.”