“I told them a number of tales; I told them that I once lost ten thousand dollars at Monte Carlo, playing with two Russian princes and a Yankee millionairess; I talked to them about the mysteries and crimes of gambling houses and of those great centres of pleasure, and I left them speechless. At half-past nine, with a terrible headache, I came back here. I think I have not lost a day, eh?”
“No! The devil! What speed!” exclaimed Alzugaray.
“But you are not eating any supper. Don’t you intend to take anything?”
“No. I am going to see if I can sleep. Listen, day after tomorrow we are both invited to dine at Don Calixto’s.”
“Me, too?”
“Yes; I told them that you are a rich tourist, and they want to know you.”
“And what am I to do there?”
“You can study these people, as an entomologist studies insects. Listen, it wouldn’t do any harm if you took a walk to that town near here, named Cidones, to see if you can find out what sort of bird this Father Martin is.”
“All right.”
“And if you don’t mind, go into that Republican bookseller’s shop, under any pretext, and talk to him.”