board—what a tragedy they held—what a record of weakness and selfishness and self-contempt!
He felt a puling, selfish satisfaction in convincing himself that it had not been an inborn passion with him; that it had not even been his own fault. During his school years and during the years spent at the military academy he had never touched a card. Even during his first ten months of actual army life, after he had received his commission in the Forty-Third Infantry, he had never thought of them—had never used them.
Came the maneuvers. The long, heart-breaking marches, the bivouac at night; and then one evening the drawling voice of his company commander, Captain Xavier Lesueur, asking him if he played cards—baccarat by preference:
"Non, mon capitaine."
Lesueur had laughed.
"Very well, my little innocent provincial, you must learn. We must have a little distraction. I'll teach you baccarat. Nothing to it. Simply watch the nines, and look sharp after the naturals. You'll get the hang of it in no time."
The rules of the game had been simple indeed. He had mastered them inside of a few minutes,
