His mother is a Romanova, but Germogen Parfentief had never considered himself a nobleman. Born in Bucharest, Romania, just after the Russian revolution of 1917, tall and powerfully built, his presence appealed to female vanity with irresistible force, diminishing every ethical rule or guilt from women's bosom by simply bowing his head; a glorious nod which was always followed by a pro-longed kiss to their outstretched hands. * * * * * The first time Alina Shandor -the gypsy woman- saw Germogen Parfentiev was in the large hall, settled at one of the tables of the Restaurant. It was a fine Wednesday morning in the heart of autumn and there was but little things for her to do, being still very early, two or three hours till noon, when the laborers and sailors took their siesta at the premises of her father's establishment. She had stood in front of his long legs to take the order, while the iron cross, shimmering between his open shirt and curly blonde hair on his chest had disoriented her attention and hearing, forcing her to ask: ''Please, I didn't hear what you said sir, excuse me...''