“It is the Countess Brenda,” said Laura.
“Another countess! But are all the women here countesses?”
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
At the other end of the dining-room a young Neapolitan with the expression of a Pulcinella and violent gestures, raised his sing-song voice, talking very loud and making everybody laugh.
After lunching, Cæsar went out to post some cards, and as it was raining buckets, he took refuge in the arcades of the Piazza Esedra.
When he was tired of walking he returned to the hotel, went to his room, turned on the light, and started to continue his unfinished perusal of Proudhon’s book on the speculator.
And while he read, there came from the salon the notes of a Tzigane waltz played on the piano.
ART, FOR DECEIVED HUSBANDS
Cæsar was writing something on the margin of a page when there came a knock at his door. “Come in,” said Cæsar.
It was Laura.