When Spero entered the dining-room, a handsome young man about twenty-five years of age hurried toward him with outstretched arms.
"How are you, my dear Spero?" he vivaciously cried.
"Oh, thank you, very well. Do you know, Gontram, that you couldn't have come at a more appropriate hour?"
"Really? That pleases me," said the new-comer, a painter who in spite of his youth enjoyed a great reputation. Laying his hand on Spero's shoulder, he looked steadily at him and earnestly asked: "Has anything disagreeable happened to you?"
"No; what makes you think so?" replied Spero, confused.
"Your appearance is different from usual. Your eyes sparkle, and you are feverishly excited. Perhaps you have some secret to intrust to me?"
In the meantime the young men had seated themselves at table, and while they were eating they indulged in general conversation.
"Do you know that my father has left Paris suddenly?" asked Spero in the course of the conversation.
"No. Where has the count gone to?"