After the visit of the Baron Armand de Valfort, I decided to go, without delay, talk to my old friend, and part time collaborator, Jean Vigogne- better known as Sanvergogne, a nickname he inherited many years ago, when he was a cat burglar. This appellation fitted him so well, that he adopted it, in the same way one chooses to wear, every day, the same pair of shoes, because it feels so comfortable. Indeed, I don’t remember, during all the years we knew each other, having ever called him by any other name than this silly alias which he bore with a dignity that inspired respect. Sanvergogne was a giant of a man, endowed with a colossal strength. And typical of those who are born with such a phenomenal physical advantage, he was not a violent
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It surprised me, but it was nevertheless, a good question. I realized that, perhaps, I should have pressed the Baron for more details. Now, it was too late, but I was curious to hear what Sanvergogne had in mind. “C’est exact!” I said, in response to his query. “Eh bien voilà!” he exclaimed, triumphantly. “The Baron lied! Because, V.S. are the initials of his wife: Valfort Simone.” I remained a few seconds speechless. What I just heard, instead of elucidating the mystery of the initials, added another dimension to it. How could Sanvergogne be able to decipher those initials? I had not told him that the name of the Baron’s wife was Simone! I was sure of it! The very reason being that I didn’t know it! The Baron had never, during our conversation, mentioned his spouse’s first name. My friend must have, in the past, dealt with the Baron, or at least, had a chance to learn who the latter was. Since he obviously didn’t want to confide in me, I was not going to confront him with the suspicion which had crossed my mind, knowing that it would certainly hurt his feelings. I chose therefore to pass under silence the source of his information, and stick to the substantive matter of a possible lie from the part of the Baron by simply express my disagreement in a detached tone of
It surprised me, but it was nevertheless, a good question. I realized that, perhaps, I should have pressed the Baron for more details. Now, it was too late, but I was curious to hear what Sanvergogne had in mind. “C’est exact!” I said, in response to his query. “Eh bien voilà!” he exclaimed, triumphantly. “The Baron lied! Because, V.S. are the initials of his wife: Valfort Simone.” I remained a few seconds speechless. What I just heard, instead of elucidating the mystery of the initials, added another dimension to it. How could Sanvergogne be able to decipher those initials? I had not told him that the name of the Baron’s wife was Simone! I was sure of it! The very reason being that I didn’t know it! The Baron had never, during our conversation, mentioned his spouse’s first name. My friend must have, in the past, dealt with the Baron, or at least, had a chance to learn who the latter was. Since he obviously didn’t want to confide in me, I was not going to confront him with the suspicion which had crossed my mind, knowing that it would certainly hurt his feelings. I chose therefore to pass under silence the source of his information, and stick to the substantive matter of a possible lie from the part of the Baron by simply express my disagreement in a detached tone of