The Russian, in a tranquil attitude, with his beautiful face on which bloomed a smile, was not discouraged.
"Do you use eau de Lubin?" he resumed. "Why don't you use a mixture of ambre and chypre? I assure you they are delicious."
And he offered him a pink, bejewelled hand, as if to make him smell it. Sabini pretended not to notice it. He neither touched nor smelt the hand and replied rudely:
"They are perfumes for women, in fact for cocottes. I don't like them."
The young Russian shook his head graciously. Then seeing that Lucio Sabini, staring a little impatiently, was questioning him with his eyes, he said:
"I came to ask you, dear Sabini, if you would accompany us after dinner to St. Moritz Bad."
"With you and others? With whom, then?"
"Why, first of all with me, and with Hugo Pforzheim, you know, dear Hugo, the graceful German, and Lewis Ogilvie, the Scotch psychologist who has invented the theory of the music of colours, and James Field, another friend, an artist of the pencil. His drawings are stupendous; don't you know them?"
"All your set, in fact?" asked Lucio, restraining his disgust.