Thus he stood one Tuesday evening some three weeks after his meeting with Minna. The room was brilliantly lighted. In a corner sat an eager crowd around a little roulette-table. On divans and easy chairs the remainder of the company laughed and chatted. Minna was the centre of a little group of men, two bald, scrupulously attired, wearing ribbons in their button-holes. One was telling a story. By the guffaws that followed, and by the way in which Minna held her fan before her face, Gerard guessed its nature. He glowered at her. As French was spoken, which he understood very badly, he felt an added sense of outrage.
A stout lady in mauve and rubies left the roulette and came over to Minna.
“Present to me your tame bear, my dear,” she said in a shrill falsetto. “He is sulking because no one is making him dance.”
Minna laughed, glanced at Gerard and met his lowering look. Then she bit her lip. It was ridiculous for a man to behave so foolishly. She rose; resigned her seat to the lady, and walked with her slow, languid step to Gerard.
“Madame Raborski is dying to make your acquaintance.”
“It would be a good thing to let her die,” said Gerard.
“Well, she will soon. Grant her this last favour.”
Annoyance screwed his features. “I can’t talk inanities to rouged women,” he said.
“You can talk them to me.”
“You’re not rouged. If you were, I shouldn’t.”