When he stood, everyone stood. When he sat, cross-legged like a giant Buddha on the floor, all eyes in the luxurious Paris apartment turned toward him. Through the whole long evening, he laughed, talked, puffed on a cigar, listened to the gypsy singers, and downed endless jiggers of vodka. At 3 in the morning, when two or three couples started for the door, he bellowed: "You're not leaving already, my friends. The night is young. Play, gypsies; play, play, play!" The guests stayed, the gypsies played. Once again, and at long last,...
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