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I go to my
old friend the secretary of the theatre, where I have exhibited the
marvellous performance of my cats. I say to him, 'When have you a date
for me?' He says, 'Next year.' I make a note of it. We talk. He knows
all Algiers. I say to him, 'What has become of Captain Vauvenarde of the
Chasseurs d'Afrique?' I say it carelessly as if the Captain were an old
friend of mine. The secretary laughs. 'Haven't you heard? The Captain
was chased from the regiment----'"
"The deuce he was!" I interjected.
"On account of something," said Anastasius. "The secretary could not
tell what. Perhaps he cheated at cards. The officers said so.
"'Where is he now?' I ask. 'Why, in Algiers. He is the most famous
gambler in the town. He is every night at the Cercle Africain, and some
people believe that it belongs to him.' My friend the secretary asks me
why I am so anxious to discover Captain Vauvenarde. I do not betray my
secret. When I do not wish to talk I close my lips, and they are sealed
like the tomb. I am the model of discretion.


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