"How will this suit?" inquired Captain Marckovitch, picking up a magnificent tiara.
Petroff, who was feeling drowsy after his plentiful consumption of vodka, pushed it away with a lordly gesture.
"All right," he exclaimed.
"Then his Excellency approves of it?" inquired the delighted manager.
"Certainly, Mr. Gorshine; you have just heard him say so," declared Major Romanoff. "Pack it up."
"I'm feeling very thirsty," murmured Petroff. "Why doesn't somebody give me a drink?"
The obsequious jeweller rushed forward.
"Pray allow me to send for refreshments," he begged.
Captain Marckovitch nodded meaningly towards the chair where Petroff was sitting.
"Perhaps I ought to have told you that the general has a little weakness," he said. "His Excellency has only lately returned from a hot climate, and—well—you understand, no doubt."