His eyes take on not exactly a glint, but it's close. He peers at Lucifer for a moment longer. Apparently, he's found an unexpected sore point.

Lucifer is right: silence is all that greets that. Geralt returns to his ale and map, ignoring the demon for the evening until one of them takes their leave.

It's probably Geralt who goes first; he has places to be, and once his second drink has emptied, he slips out without a glance back. Lucifer, he thinks, reminds him more of the mages back home than anything, and he can't say how he feels about that. Nothing good, really. (If he ever finds out Lucifer has become friends with Istredd, it will make perfect sense.)