None of the men had been at the Opera, they had not heard. One or two indulged in expressions of sympathy.
The bearded man, a powerful nobleman, only just second to Zouroff himself in importance and length of lineage, continued his remarks.
“I spoke just now of your well-known attachment to La Belle Quéro. Is it possible, Prince, that in an unguarded moment, you may have dropped some hints of your purpose to her? I did not wish, for a moment, to offend your amour propre, but rumour has it that she is very much attracted by this handsome young Italian. It is strange that he should have escaped you, who usually lay your plans so well.”
Zouroff paused for a moment before he replied. These men were as keen-witted as himself; it was impossible to deceive them for long.
“Gentlemen, I will be quite frank with you. One is always a fool where women are concerned. In a moment of ungoverned temper, I did hint to Madame Quéro something that might have set her wits to work, and she may have acted upon that.”
“From her penchant for the Italian?” suggested the bearded man, who, privately, was not too fond of the Prince, and always indulged in a pin-prick when possible.
Zouroff flushed a deep red. It angered him deeply that other persons should know Corsini had been preferred to him.
He looked round the assembly. He knew that the bearded man was bidding for the leadership that had been willingly accorded to himself. If his position were menaced, he must recover it immediately, and by a bold stroke.
He surveyed the small knot of men, his bold bearing and resolute demeanour at once challenging their allegiance, and compelling it.