The pianist grew pale, looking at Lubimoff with an expression of terror. His look was like that of a person who is talking aloud when he imagines himself alone, and then suddenly notices that some one is listening to him. He sat there embarrassed and stammering:
"I don't know ... people tell so many lies!... Women's gossip!"
Lubimoff felt a like embarrassment on realizing that even Spadoni had taken up his adventure with delight.
He felt there was no use in continuing the conversation with an imbecile like that. He arose, and the pianist, still trembling at his own indiscretion, showed similar signs of haste to end the visit.
"And Novoa?" asked the Prince on reaching the outer door. "Has he also left?"
No; he was still in Monaco, working at the Museum, when he did not have any more urgent business. They met very seldom. How could they see each other if he, Spadoni, on account of his poverty, refrained from entering the gambling rooms?
"He goes on playing, your Highness; but very badly, with the timidity of a novice, and for that reason he loses. He isn't made of the same stuff that we are, we who are true gamblers."
And the pianist drew himself up to his full height as he said this, as though he had never lost and possessed all the secrets of chance.
"I sent him two tickets for this afternoon's concert: one for him and the other for that Señorita Valeria, the Duchess's companion. Poor man! Always doing something silly, like a young lover!"
But his smile, which was that of a superior person exempt from such humiliations, disappeared, as he realized that once more he was saying something offensive to the Prince.