Zoya’s raised eyebrows expressed satisfaction, and she exclaimed triumphantly:  “I knew I was right!  Really, it is extraordinary how things come about!  No one has told me a word.  Yet the whole story unrolled itself in front of me.  Listen”—­she interrupted herself long enough to light a cigarette, then sat down tailor fashion on the foot of the lounge—­“I was but a moment ago at the station—­my sister went back to Russia this morning.  As I was leaving, whom did I see but Giovanni being piloted down the trainway!  He looked really ill, and it would have struck any one as strange that he should be traveling.  Then all at once I thought to myself, ’Hm, Hm!  Signore il duca has descended into the next world, and the one who sent him there is being banished into the next country!’ Thereupon I thought further, ’That child of a Nina will be hiding her head under the pillows of her bed’—­exactly as you have been doing!  How do I know?  Look at your hair, and look at the pillows—­and here I am to scold you!”

Nina looked at her in amazement.  “You have put it all together, you wonderful Zoya!  Compared to you, I never seem to see anything!  Oh, but this whole day has been full of horrible surprises.  I never dreamed what sort of man Giovanni is—­and yet I can’t help feeling sorry to think of his being sent off ill and alone!”

“How very pathetic!” exclaimed Zoya sarcastically.  “It is the very saddest thing I have ever heard of.”  Then her tone changed.  “I would not waste too much sympathy on him for his loneliness, however,” she said briskly, “as he has a very charming companion, who, if accounts are true, is not only diverting but devoted.  That spoils your sad picture somewhat, does it not?”

“The Potensi!” escaped Nina’s lips before she knew it.

Zoya blew rings of smoke unperturbed.  “So you have found that out, have you?”

Nina colored with indignation.  “Have you known that, too, and never told me?  Zoya, you call yourself my friend!”

But Zoya met Nina’s glance squarely, as she asked in turn:  “What difference does it make?  Though, for that matter, I’ve made it plain all winter; any one but a baby would have understood long ago.  But after all, why such an excitement over such a commonplace fact?” Then, with far more interest, she said:  “You certainly are funny, you Americans.  What in the world do you think men are?  And since Giovanni is not even married?  However, to finish my story:  it was not the Potensi with your hero, but Favorita.”

“Favorita—­the dancer?  Zoya, what do you mean?”

“Exactly what I tell you.”  Zoya inhaled her cigarette deeply and then shrugged her shoulders.  “When I saw Giovanni, I did not believe it possible, that, even on so short notice, he would go off as you said, ill and alone.  So I went back along the station and waited.  In a moment, I saw Favorita come out on the platform and pass hurriedly down the train, peering into every carriage.  When she came to Giovanni’s she flew in like a bird.  I waited a moment longer, and saw the guards lock the door and the train pull out!”